


Dans Lequel Isaac Lahey Obtient Finalement Un Peu De Putain De Thérapie

by penink



Series: In Which Isaac Lahey Finally Gets Some Fucking Therapy [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Argent fam, Chris Argent is Bad at Feelings, Isaac Feels, Isaac Lahey still needs therapy, Isaac is Also Bad at Feelings, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Other, Sequel, despite the title this IS in english, don't have to read the first one though, i don't speak french, isaac centric, not relationships though, post Allison death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 102,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penink/pseuds/penink
Summary: Isaac couldn't face what happened.  Not in Beacon Hills.Allison was dead.So he ran.And where he wound up, wasn't ideal.The Argent clan is nothing like, and exactly like, what he thought they would be.How does Isaac expect to heal in this strange new world?And what will the Argents think when they discover a werewolf in their midst?How will they decide?Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent,or nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes?Check out the character aesthetics for this fichere:





	1. Chapter 1

“What’s this?” The TSA agent asked, holding up the wooden container which now held the Nogitsune.

“Old family heirloom. My aunt was hoping to get it back on our trip,” Chris Argent lied fluidly.

“And why did you say you were going to France?” She asked cautiously, giving the box a shake. Isaac tensed.

“We’re spending some time with the family. For a few months,” Mr. Argent said, now sounding impatient.

“‘We’ being you and your son?” She asked.

“Nephew,” Mr. Argent said curtly.

“Right, have a safe trip,” she said, before returning their carry on bags.

“Nephew, huh?” Isaac said dryly. It was his attempt at humor after everything.

Mr. Argent let out a scoffing sigh, but the corner of his lip twitched up, “quiet, Isaac,” he scolded.

“Sorry Uncle Chris,” Isaac said lightly.

Before the weight returned to both of their chests. Her weight. Isaac began to recede into himself and kept his head bowed as he boarded the plane. While technically he was aware that he was boarding a plane to France with Chris Argent because Allison was dead, it was more like his mind attempted to keep all thoughts of it buried. He was simply going through the motions. Isaac took the aisle seat of the economy class flight Chris had booked. Not that the Argent clan couldn’t afford better, but it had been decided that under the radar was safer. Before, Isaac would have been worried about the implications of that. That there were still threats out there right now. Yet now, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything unless he was told to. Isaac tucked his feet underneath him, a headache now joining the ache of grief in his chest from the noise of the plane. Twelve hours of this. Twelve hours with nothing to distract himself from what they had lost.

Not only this, but Isaac now realized he would be trapped in this metal shell surrounded by the scent of sweaty human bodies and the roar of the engine. He had never flown before. When Isaac was little he had vacationed with the family to a cabin by the coast. There had never been any need - or money - for flights. Isaac was unsettled by the prison he now found himself in rather than excited. Despite this, Isaac couldn’t bring himself to regret leaving. The thought of that town, of being in Beacon Hills for one more second, was worse than any metal box. He spoke from experience, of course.

Argent was sitting next to him, reading a fucking magazine. On the cover he could see an AK-47. Typical.

Isaac wished drugs worked on him. He could’ve chugged some over the counter sleeping aid and wake up away from Beacon Hills and from everything that screamed Allison. That screamed pain. He could hardly tolerate the way Chris smelled a bit like her, but it was his only window out. And he wanted to see the creature responsible imprisoned for good.

After that? He didn’t know. Isaac couldn’t look at his loved ones. Scott reminded him of her and how the two of them were the only ones to really know what it was like to love her.

He couldn't face that.

What he could face was an uncertain future in a foreign country in the house of people who, presumably, wanted him dead.

That he could face.

Isaac’s heart beat a little faster as a hum roared in his ears and he felt his body rise from the earth and with it leave behind some of the weight in his chest. Not enough. Not yet. And relief had a very different meaning when grief was in his blood.

Isaac slumped down into his seat, unphased by rattles of turbulence, yet unsettled when someone walked past the aisle, trapping him further. He was utterly bored. Downloading movies was low on his list of priorities for this flight. Isaac had avoided the window seat for fear of feeling more trapped, but being able to look out now sounded enticing. Isaac pulled his hood up folded his arms, planning on trying to sleep.

Within an hour he found himself quietly flicking his claws out of his left hand and retracting them. The slight ‘flick’ of their exit followed by the almost silent balling of his fist as they retracted. Flick, then silence. Flick, then silence. Isaac focused on the feeling, so foreign to a human body, of strength forming instantaneously on his fingertips.

Flick, then silence.

“Isaac,” Argent hissed harshly. “Stop that. It’s like you want to get yourself killed, and we’re not even there!”

Isaac gloomily stopped, his hands fully human once more. “So why did you agree to take me?”

“If I remember right, you said you were going no matter what I did,” Argent closed his magazine, arms folded on the tray in front of him.

“As if you couldn’t’ve stopped me. Lied about when we were leaving. Got Ms. McCall to hide my passport. You wanted me to come, but you keep on acting like I’ll be shot on sight when we get there,” Isaac said. He was ready for the conflict, as long as it meant he wasn’t stuck in his own head.

“I am doing my best to protect you,” Argent said coolly. “Enough so that you’re safer with the Argents than whatever street you would’ve found yourself in otherwise.”

“Protect me, huh?” Isaac scoffed. He had a bitter, nagging feeling that the only reason Argent brought along his dead daughter’s boyfriend was so that he could still have a kid to take care of. He wasn’t Allison. Not by a long shot. And if that’s what he expected from this… he might as well let the other Argents shoot him.

“Isaac, before we get there, you need to listen to me,” Argent sat up, turning to face the moody teen with intent certainty. Now Isaac was listening. “Gerard was a fanatic, but my family was closer to his side of things than Scott’s. They still believe in hunting what hunts them. Do you understand me?”

“So… how did you…?”

“Valarie Argent. She is my second cousin and the current matriarch of the whole Argent clan. Her mother, my aunt, is sick. Dying, most likely. My great aunt was only a few steps short of Gerard. Valarie is trying to be better. But a whole generation with that mentality still lives in that house. Not all of my cousins are as mature as she is,” Argent explained. “She knows what happened to us. She believed in what we were doing in Beacon Hills. And she is why you are coming with me. Her brothers and sisters have agreed to allow it, but they will tolerate you. Not welcome you. The fact that you are what you are is kept quiet. Between her and her most trusted council and their husbands.”

“So, the whole women are leaders and men are soldiers thing, it’s taken seriously?” Isaac asked slowly.

“Of course that’s what you took from that,” Argent muttered, rubbing temples tiredly. “Yes. It is. Men were considered too reckless by our early founders. My father, after my mother died, he… he turned away from that. He became bitter. He left his sister and her brood and set up in Canada… I assume you didn’t have much contact with Canadian packs?”

“No,” Isaac scoffed.

Argent looked grim. “Slaughter. For years and years. His sister allowed it, but like I said, things are different now. Valarie is going to do better.”

“But you aren’t so sure about the rest of the family?”

Argent nodded, “none of them would dare move against Valerie, but politics are messy, unpredictable. Things can change, so…” Argent stared at Isaac’s human hands. “Keep your claws to yourself.”

Isaac nodded, for the first time trepidation at his fate rising. Before receding. They could shoot him dead and Isaac couldn’t imagine being that upset. Isaac let out an exhale through his nose. Something almost like a laugh. He didn’t even realize how sickening this action was.

Isaac awoke with a yelp from the feeling of falling. Attracting the occasional stare from other fliers.

“Landing,” Argent told him as he collected this things.

Isaac leaned past him to look out the window, to see with a jolt the lines of stars forming a city.

“What time is it?” Isaac mumbled.

“By France’s clocks? Nearly four in the morning.”

“And we’re in… we’re in Paris?”

“Yes,” Argent said impatiently. “Get your bag.”

Isaac reached out and grabbed his backpack a little groggily just as the plane stopped and other passengers clambered to their feet, some chattering in French and others in English.

“We get out in Paris, what next?” Isaac asked as they queued to leave.

Argent glanced at him quizzically. “Well, the house is in the thirteenth district. Although I don’t expect you to know where that is.”

“So, wait, your headquarters are in the city?” Isaac asked. “Isn’t that a little… obvious?”

“Did you expect us to set up underground in the little village we’re from?” Argent said. “We’re hunters. But we’re also business people. We need intel. Communication. Access. Can’t get that in a village.”

“Fair enough,” Isaac said. “But how are you subtle about all the crazy hunting stuff?”

“We’re involved in international weaponry trade. Our armory is unquestioned. It’s a family business. That’s why we’re all there. Anything in particular comes up, it’s nothing money can’t fix,” Argent spoke softly in his ear, so that others, unless a werewolf, could not hear.

Isaac nodded, feeling as if he were being taken into the mob.

“Valerie and her husband will be meeting us. As well as her right hand. No one else,” Argent said as they left the airport. He handed Isaac a bag and hailed a cab.

Isaac was utterly overwhelmed. Everything was so loud in the street. They were just outside the city too, not even in it yet. Not to mention it was hours before dawn. Those that were awake, everyone was babbling in French. Isaac had existed in a state with few secrets in Beacon Hills. Even at a whisper he could hear what was being said. Suddenly here, he was cut off from communication by a language barrier. Isaac was jostled by the movement around him and Isaac realized this was the biggest city he had ever been in. Argent ushered Isaac into the back seat, stating an address in perfect French.  
The car was a relief. 

Isaac pressed his forehead to the cool glass in the morning air. There is no escape from the torment of grief, but at least he was untouched by the barely risen population of Paris.

Isaac managed to distract himself with the tired population of Paris. It was before dawn, so the only people on the sidewalks were the occasional drunk partygoer stumbling home and those going to a morning shift or returning from a night one.

Isaac could not attach himself to these strangers, but he did wonder what it would be like, to worry only about making it to work and not on the survival of his friends and family. To not remember vividly things that prevented his mind from calming.

The thirteenth district was fairly upper class. Old mansions side by side mixed with modern businesses, gentrified cafes and vegan restaurants. Far snobbier than downtown Beacon Hills.

No. Isaac did not need to compare his new life to what he had lost. What he had chosen to lose…

The intensity of the city faded and the buildings grew further apart until it was more like a crowded, partially urban neighborhood than the heart of Paris. The car stopped outside of a building running the length of half the block. Iron gates met between the old stone walls. Obviously a historical part of the city. Isaac was unsurprised. Of course they would somehow find the perfect fortress-esque location to train young hunters. Isaac stood, hunched in the pale predawn light, as Argent gathered his two suitcases from the cab. Argent approached an intercom at the left of the gate, pressing the call button.

“Comment s'est passé le voyage, cousin?” A lilting voice overlaid with static spoke to him.

“Let’s get to the point, Val. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent,” Argent muttered the family motto.

“Primitive,” the voice said huffily, her english impeccable even with her throaty accent. “Any wolf with a good head on their shoulders could’ve recited those words.”

“Is my face not enough?” Argent hissed to the camera.

“Not with the way their world is growing,” she told him cryptically.

“Allison Argent is dead,” Chris seemed to force the words out. “I abide by her code now, nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes.”  
A moment of silence filled only by static over the intercom. Then, the gate opened automatically. The wooden doors behind them looked as if they hadn’t been closed for a long time.

Isaac moved to follow Argent through when a sudden wave of nausea stopped him. 

“I… I don’t think I can pass,” Isaac said.

Argent glanced at the stone walls. “You can. The mountain ash line is ancient. Nothing but dust now, it has to be reset and sealed to be really effective. It wasn’t formally broken per say, but there are so few particles left,” he explained. “I’m assuming that’s what these doors are made of,” he referred to the thick wooden doors that must be made of mountain ash wood. “Shutting them must seal the building,” he sounded vaguely impressed.

Isaac, with a heavy sigh, stepped across the threshold. His sickness subsided immediately.

“That’s annoying,” Isaac muttered.

“Keep it to yourself,” Argent reminded him.

The courtyard surrounding them had classical French style. The kind that carried over to New Orleans. A balcony encircled the second floor and four gardens divided by intersecting stone paths surrounded them, a single tree to each section providing shade to the already sheltered courtyard. Targets, marred by holes from all sorts of weapons, stood in a line on the far wall. Light through misted bulbs hung across the the railings, shedding warm light into the night. Also illuminating a trio waiting for them across from the entrance.

Isaac didn’t need heightened senses to tell who the leader was among them.

Valerie - or who Isaac assumed was Valerie - was shorter than her comrades, but her demeanor seemed to take up more space.

Isaac, with a sudden jolt, realized how similar she was to Allison. They shared the same high cheekbones, but the resemblance prevailed more in how she held herself. In a way she gave off a passive, friendly air, but there was something stronger there, harder. A cold confidence built off of hard decisions and iron convictions. Her hair was far curlier than Allison’s, it seemed more wild, and her lips were just as full, but longer instead of round. Isaac could see a scar across her collarbone and stop at the base of her neck. Her eyes were blue, not brown, and therefore far less warm than Allison’s were. He had to stop making comparisons. It would kill him.

“Cousin!” She smiled widely, revealing startlingly white teeth which reminded Isaac of fangs more than some wolves did. She stepped forward and embraced her family. When she drew back, a more somber expression had grown. “I am very sorry. For your wife and daughter, but I also thank you for what you had done with the American branch.”

“I only followed her,” Argent said, both diplomatic and familial, “Allison knew the way back from what my father had done.”

“She sounds like a true leader,” Valerie held onto his shoulder, grounding him.

“She was,” Argent coughed, as if to cover the weakness in his voice.

“And this must be your… little wolf,” the woman turned to Isaac, unashamedly sizing him up. At her words the woman to her right shifted uncomfortably. “Valerie Argent,” she extended a hand which Isaac knew better than to refuse.

“Isaac,” he tried to strengthen his tone, but she was an imposing figure. “Uh, Lahey,” he finished awkwardly.

“You have been good to my family, Isaac,” she stated it as a fact, not a question. “I thank you for that.”

“I owe them just as much,” Isaac said. Allison, mostly. Chris had yet to prove himself properly in Isaac’s eyes.

“We ‘ave never done anything like this before,” Valerie did not speak with caution, rather neutrally, but she did stare at him for a reaction. Isaac wasn’t sure what to offer. She continued. “You are under my protection, Isaac, but my people act on their own outside of the battlefield. No violence shall occur against you so long as you do the same.”

Isaac nodded. He had no intention of fighting any more Argents for the rest of his life.

“Should you attack my family in any regard, we shall treat you as we treat all violent wolves, understood?” She said.

“Understood,” Isaac said.

“Sauf s'il agit en légitime défense, Val,” the tall, sinowy man spoke. Everything about him seemed pale. Blond hair, grey eyes, pallid skin. He seemed gentle, but Isaac knew the Argents well enough that a threat must lurk beneath. He looked to Isaac uncertainly, “er,it is, when self defense, okay,” he seemed to think as he translated his words.

“Oui, Gabriel, tu as raison,” she told the man. “My husband, Gabriel, is correct. Should my family disobey me, you are not only allowed but,” she searched for the word, “encouraged, to fight back. They will be no family of mine.”

“Who else knows what he is?” Argent asked.

“Only my other Sisters. Louise, of course,”she waved back to the woman whose eyes not so subtly watched Isaac. “And the three other council members and their husbands. The children and our more distant relatives only know that Isaac has aided the family in America and suffered the same blow you did.”

“Good,” Argent nodded. “And the other Sisters respect your decision?” Isaac had a feeling ‘sister’ had a more political meaning than familial in this sense.

“Enough,” Valerie said shortly. “N'est-ce pas, Louise?”

“Good to meet you, Isaac,” the woman, Louise, gave Isaac a curt nod. “And good to see you again, cousin. It has been too long.”

“Chérie, devrais-je les montrer dans leurs chambres?” The man, Gabriel, asked his wife something.

“Qui,” she affirmed her husband. “I shall talk to you later, Chris, please, settle.” They turned to leave. “And Chris?” They both stopped. “You will need to hand over your… special guest soon, yes?”

Chris nodded, and Isaac’s hand went to the wooden box on his side. Letting go did not feel easier yet.

“I… I will show you to the rooms now,” Gabriel thought through his English carefully. “Your rooms,” he corrected with a frown.

“How is… er, David?” Chris asked Gabriel after searching his memory for the name, as the man led them up the stairs to the arching doorway that marked off the main entrance from the rest.

“My boy is good. Very… acharné,” he thought for a moment. “Fierce. As all teenagers are, no?” He frowned. “Your girl must have been very brave.”  
Chris nodded reluctantly, “I would rather focus on the present, Gabriel, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Gabriel shook himself. “My apology.”

“He was a toddler when I last saw him. David, I mean,” Argent pushed on.

“He is much the same!” Gabriel grins. “Does not like to fail or… trip up. Gets frustrated before he can try again.”

“He a marksman like his father?” Chris asked.

“Oh yes,” Gabriel seemed to swell with pride. “Good shot, and not half bad with a knife either.” He seemed to want to include Isaac somehow. “You… you use weapons too? Or just…” he mimed a slashing action.

“Not really. Never really needed to,” Isaac shrugged.

“Here you could learn,” he said encouragingly. He seemed so genuinely hopeful. “Our children learn here and at the school. They train and become good fighters. You should join them!”

“Maybe,” Isaac said reluctantly, unwilling to say no to this painfully optimistic man.

“We’ll see how long Isaac is here for,” Chris said carefully, causing Isaac to give him a look. Isaac wasn’t leaving any time soon, but he would eventually.

“My wife says as long as he likes, he can stay here,” Gabriel attempted to reassure him.

“I don’t know yet,” Isaac said, staring at the halls, arching windows looked out onto the courtyard on one side, a row of wooden doors to the other.

Gabriel led them up a stairwell to the second floor, which seemed to house bedrooms. At the end of it, where narrower windows showed the streets, growing brighter as the sun rose, he opened a door.

“Chris, your room,” he nodded inward. “And Isaac, yours is next door. Best to keep you close,” Gabriel glanced down the hall cautiously.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Chris said. “We’ll find Valerie once we’ve unpacked.”

“Breakfast is at eight,” he told them before heading off, presumably to his own room.

Chris looked as if he wanted to say something, but Isaac had already left for his own room. It was modest. A desk was underneath the window which showed a side street between the building and the neighboring house. Clean, white linen covered the bed with a simple, metal frame and a wooden dresser took up the wall across from it. An on-suite bathroom stood with the door ajar. Isaac tossed his duffle bag onto the chest at the end of the bed and collapsed.

The sheets smelled foreign.

Isaac covered his face with his hands and mumbled, “what am I doing?”

He sat up, not caring if his shoes dirtied the blankets, and curled in on himself.

Isaac was in a foreign country. With a man he really didn’t know and a bunch of strangers he really, really didn’t know. He didn’t feel further from his problems or closer to Allison. He just felt alone.

“I don’t even speak French!” Isaac said exasperatedly. “Oh, sure, I got an A in French last year, but that doesn’t mean I can speak it!” He launched a kick at his bedside table, missing wildly.

He sat there in silence, the house not yet awake. Isaac could not sit still like this. Otherwise he would infect France with the same tepid sorrow that had infected Beacon Hills.

So Isaac folded his clothes. He folded them and put them in the dusty drawers of the dresser. Laying his other few personal belongings in the chest at the foot of the bed, and he laid the pictures he had on the bed side table.

The torn photos, now with only his mother and brother, were laid next to a photo from the McCall Christmas. There, Melissa had taken her own shaky version of a selfie. She had framed the camera so she stood in the foreground, Isaac and Scott were slumped over, asleep, on the couch behind her, Scott’s head on Isaac’s shoulder. As well as a single photo of him and Allison at the bowling alley. Allison had her arms slung around his shoulders, smiling at the camera. Isaac looked startled in the photo, still staring at her. A single, blurry hand making a peace sign had attempted to give Isaac bunny ears. Stiles. Isaac felt drained. He had no frames to put them in.

Isaac, nothing left to unpack, spent a moment, staring at the unfamiliar happy faces before him. He forced himself to turn away. He entered the hallway, his hearing picking up on stirring within the bedrooms as the clock approached seven. Isaac, after a pause, knocked on Chris’s door.

“Enter,” Chris called to him. He was sitting on his own bed, the room similar to Isaac’s, in the midst of unpack his far greater belongings. “Do you have it?” He looked up to Isaac, whose messenger bag remained slung over his shoulder, one hand resting on the container within. Isaac nodded.  
Argent stood with a sigh, “come on, then. Let’s finish this.”

Isaac followed him sulkily as the occasional passerby glanced at the pair curiously. The adults seemed to recognized Chris, stopping him with delighted smiles, happy words exchanged in French followed by more solemn condolences. Few bothered to ask who Isaac was, seeming worried to disturb the resentful, grieving youth.

Chris led them to past the windows into the courtyard until they were at the far end of the building, from the groggy clatter of cutlery Isaac assumed it was their dining room. It had three long tables crowded with benches and mismatching chairs. The third table had platters of food and drink laid out instead of seating. A swinging door glimpsed a kitchen behind the hall. The room was designed to house thirty, which suited the number of occupants just fine. From the far table, Valerie stood, abandoning her seat and her cup of coffee for the pair.

“Shall we?” She said, showing them past the hallway to a second stairwell, where she unlocked a door by entering a code. There, stone steps descended into darkness.

With an electric hum, Valerie flicked on the lights, which charged to life one at a time, casting harsh light onto the stone walls. At the bottom of the steps was a metal gate with another lock. Isaac could hear the pulse of the metal. It was electrified. Valerie strode ahead, entering a second code, Chris followed her but she moved to stop Isaac, looking hesitant.

“None of your kind have ever gone this far,” she told him. “And the only way you will… I must break a line which has not been broken in decades.”

“He’s earned the right to finish this, Val,” Chris defended him. “You can reseal the line right after.”

With a grim nod, she approached a metal cabinet in the wall, which, in any normal home, might hold an electrical box. In the Argent home, there was only a line of black dust, traversing into the wall by a tunnel the size of a quarter. Isaac was confident that it encircled the whole room. After a pause, she dragged her finger through the line, leaving behind black residue showing how long it had been there.

Isaac stepped forward, unhindered. Looking nervous, Valerie quickly shut the gate behind him.

Metal shelves lined the walls of the room no bigger than a classroom. On them, dusty boxes, files, and unusual weapons laid. Isaac moved to pull the box from his bag.

“Such dangerous things do not go here,” Valerie scoffed. She moved onwards to a vault door. Isaac shuddered. It reminded him of the bank. This door seemed far older. Runes were carved along the rim.

A separate code was input and a key was twisted in the lock. A chain connected the key to her neck. The vault door swung open and revealed a long row of chests. Each with its own warding, some encircled in mountain ash, others guarded by weird magic Isaac didn’t recognize. Valerie pulled a small chest with warding written in Japanese.

“Chris, the moment you contacted me, I reached out to my connections to obtain this. I doubt the beast will escape the nemeton’s hold, but if it did, this box would make escape impossible without severe damage to its soul,” she opened the surprisingly simple clasp on the box and turned to Isaac.

Isaac found his hands shook slightly, as he removed the jar from his bag for the first time since leaving Beacon Hills. Valerie reached to take it, “the mark of the Hales, yes?” She sounded intrigued. Isaac pulled back.

“I can tell you all about the Hale pack, but you don’t need to touch it. I’m locking it up,” Isaac said quietly.

Valerie’s expression softened, “yes, I understand why an Argent liked you so much, Isaac. You’re not so different from us.”

Isaac, rather than bother with a reply, stepped forward and placed the jar inside of its new home. His knuckles were white and resistant to let go. Revulsion swelled inside of him, knowing the tiny creature before him at killed her, but he feared that once he let go, he wouldn’t feel better. He knew it wouldn’t. Whatever this was, justice, revenge, security, it didn’t change anything. Isaac let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Isaac was suddenly back in the cafeteria. Accept instead of obnoxious teenagers, the room was full of Argents.

Chris gave him a little nod, before proceeding to get a cup of coffee and catch up with his family. An affair which seemed to be a bunch of hunters patting him on the back and solemnly nodding and talking around the topic of his loss. Isaac did see a trend in the arrangement, as he leaned in the doorway sulkily. A table consisting of older men and women were chatting dully, some of them reading ancient looking books, others just engaging in somewhat aggressive conversation. The retirees. The less maniacal Gerards. A group of women, Valerie and Louise among them, were in deep discussion. The Sisters, he assumed. Their husbands nodded along intently to whatever they were plotting. A group of younger people, probably in their mid-twenties, chatted and laughed uproariously. New graduates. Isaac tried not to think about how Allison could never be among them. The obvious ‘kiddie table’ had a mix of toddlers and ten year olds, being carelessly watched by whatever grownups were nearby. Isaac wondered who among them would grow up to be killers and commit to the Argent brand. He couldn’t imagine the chubby little boy before him with a pouting, furrowed brow, growing up to be like Chris, or the blonde girl who wouldn’t stop flicking peas at him to grow up to be like - god forbid - Kate, but he knew that in this house, there were few other things they could be destined to be.

They needed her. Isaac couldn’t help but think how badly this house needed Allison. They needed to know there were other things they could be. The world isn’t made up of generals and soldiers. They needed Allison. They needed an Argent who had lived free of this house and this life. Just long enough to be a person. Before she was taken away. Isaac’s chest wouldn’t stop aching. Its pain felt just as physical as if his father had just landed a blow. To cope with his own pain, he instead was consumed by pity for the family before him who were never lucky enough to know the girl who was destined to fix the Argent family.

Isaac jumped out of his skin, heart racing.

“Tu vas bien?” The girl who had so frightened him asked.

Isaac stared at her face and relaxed. The girl, for a moment, had looked like Allison. The same lips and the same eyes, but her hair was cropped short and shaved at the sides, the top wildly curly. She was stouter, her muscles widening her body instead of the lean strength Allison had carried. Her jaw was sharper than Allison’s rounded face. The girl’s nose was less buttoned, more hooked and appeared crooked as if it had been broken before.

“W-What?” Isaac said, after realizing he had been staring at this girl for no reason.

“English, eh?” She said, her accent less smooth than Valerie’s. It sounded, not quite harsher, but… more spiked, was how he would put it. Her inflections rose and fell wildly. “I asked if you were okay, American boy. Startled you, did I? Don’t see how.”

“Nothing,” Isaac muttered.

“You came here with Uncle Chris, yes?” She asked.

“You’re Argent’s niece?” He asked.

She laughed, it just as sporadic and gruff as her speech. Something about her careless abandon with words made him relax. The rest of them, Valerie and even Chris, had seemed so… stuffy.  
“You cannot keep calling him Argent in this house. No one will know who you’re talking about,” she told him.

“You’re Chris’s niece,” he clarified.

“No,” she said simply. “You call ze middle aged Uncles and Aunts, the old Grandfather and Grandmother, or great aunt and uncle, I guess,” she frowned for a minute, debating it in her head. “Either way, tracking if he is third cousin or second uncle once removed, why bother?” She shrugged. “Lucky you. No names to worry about. Just Monsieur and Madame. Mister and Miss,” she added.

“I guess,” Isaac muttered.

“What is your name?” She asked.

“Isaac,” he told her, feeling oddly relieved that his arrival had not been spread far and wide enough that she knew who he was.

“Isaac, a French name, but you are not French?” She asked.

“No,” Isaac said a little puzzled. Regardless of how, this Argent girl had distracted him from his brooding. So he engaged. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Romarin,” she stuck out a hand.

“R-Romarin?” He choked on the pronunciation.  
She all but cackled at him, “I only let good friends call me this, but I pity your American tongue. Romy for short,” she told him.

“Romy,” he said with more confidence.

“Good,” Romy appraised him. “Perhaps you can survive these fools.” She jerked her head back at the table she had come from.

There, were the students. The crowd Allison would be sent to. The obvious and gendered divide in their training was present. The girls carried themselves higher, with responsibility, the boys roughhoused and fucked around. Isaac wasn’t sure how he felt about their methods, to restrain their girls into leadership and let their boys brawl. The one grace was that the boys seemed to, grudgingly, listen when the girls told them to knock it off. Still, it didn’t exactly feel like the progressive matriarchy described in Beacon Hills.

“Tais-toi! Asseyez-vous, Leo! Écoutez, branleur!” Romy shoved a blond boy off the table, snapping the group to attention. She turned to Isaac, “just telling them to shut up,” she said. It was unnecessary, but he appreciated someone bothering to tell him what was being said. She turned back to the group, continuing in English obviously for his benefit, “this is Isaac. He’s the California boy who helped Uncle Chris.”

Isaac immediately shrunk away from the sympathetic looks. Yet after those passed, they seemed to size him up.

“Are you a hunter?” A tall boy who had obviously worked hard to gain muscle asked him in choppy English.

“Er, no,” Isaac said.

“Hunting family at least? What is your last name?” A pale, serious girl, with eyebrows plucked too thin asked him.

“Lahey,” he said gruffly. “You wouldn’t know it.”

“So… ‘ow do you know Uncle Chris?” A fourteen year old with a stain on his shirt seemed puzzled.

“I just… sorta got involved in the weird shit in town,” he said awkwardly. It was very hard to explain how he got into the supernatural world without, you know, bringing up the Alpha pulling him out of a grave and offering to bite him.

“Because of cousin Allison, I bet!” The same tall boy who had first asked nodded along confidently. “You dated her and she showed you the family!” It didn’t sound like an accusation, but it still made Isaac uncomfortable in multiple ways.

“David,” the pale girl scolded him. David. So this was Valerie and Gabriel’s son.

“She was a hunter. Hunters die hunting things,” he defended himself impatiently. “There is no shame in talking about doing what we do.”

“Peut-être que tu ne devrais pas en parler si tôt…” The blond, Leo, who Romy had shoved off the table spoke softly to David. Isaac’s A in French gave him ‘talk about so soon’. He could fill in the blanks.

“How about we finish introductions, yes?” Romy interrupted the tension. “David, Leo,” he knew them already. “Max,” she pointed to the younger boy with the stained shirt. “Jeanie,” the serious girl. And the list went on. Isaac stopped even trying to follow it.

“So, Isaac, as little Maxie said, how did you help Uncle Chris?” David pushed on.

“Hey,” Max pouted and pushed at the larger boy from his taunts.

“I just, helped him talk with the packs in town. With…” Isaac didn’t want to say her name. “With some others,” he finished shortly.

“Talk to the packs?” David scoffed. “You aren’t a hunter, but you were running around chasing werewolves?”

“Guess you could say that,” Isaac said stiffly.

“Are you an… Emissary?” Max asked excitedly. “We know some Emissaries! They’re powerful.”

“No,” Isaac said awkwardly. “But we had an emissary. He was a vet.”

“An old soldier?” David asked.

“No, an… animal doctor,” Isaac explained. David seemed disappointed.

“So… how?” Leo asked.

“Like David said, pretty much,” Isaac shrugged.

“But how did you meet the packs?” Max asked. “Did you fight them on a date with Allison?” The kid seemed to excited to realize he might not want to talk about his dead girlfriend.

“No,” Isaac said a little coldly. “We were friends with the pack in Beacon Hills.”

David scoffed.

“Problem?” Isaac asked sharply.

“Friends with a pack,” he said dryly. “From what I ‘ave heard, Uncle Chris made a necessary alliance, because other packs were worse.”

“Yeah, well. I was there, which is a bit different from hearing it from mommy and daddy,” Isaac said sarcastically.

David frowned, “you would know. Not a hunter. Just a boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t raised a hunter, I don’t fight like you do, but how many of you can say you took on a Kanima? A pack of Alphas? A-A Nogitsune!” Isaac all but snarled at the kid, claws digging into his fists. Isaac was never one to brag. He thought people that did tended to be dicks, but this fucking asshole picked the wrong day, the wrong fucking year, to underestimate him.

“Sure you did,” David said dryly.

Isaac stepped forward, pushing David back in his seat, Isaac’s face inches from his, “how do you think she died?” He hissed.

David leered back, glowering at Isaac, obviously wanting to throw a punch, but he just shook his head, “your stories don’t make sense. You say you aren’t a hunter, but you have hunted before.”

“Did you really fight a… a pack of Alphas?” Max asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Isaac stepped back, eyes never leaving David. “They were a bunch of dicks. Tried to trick one of the Alphas on our side, killed some of our-some of his betas.” Isaac had a bitter taste in his mouth. “They were good people.”

“Good people… and werewolves, ridiculous,” David muttered.

Isaac didn’t bother to reply, he instead responded to Max, “they were led by this crazy blind guy. Called himself a demon wolf. Named Deucalion.”

The girl, Jeanie, sprayed orange juice all over the table, “Deucalion?!”

Isaac, startled, nodded, “yeah, you heard of him?”

“Who hasn’t?” Jeanie, despite her serious, aloof manner, actually seemed impressed. “Getting wolves to slaughter their own packs, butchering humans along the way, you mean Uncle Chris is why he’s been off the map for so long?”

“It was mostly Allison and the pack,” Isaac defended them. It was strange, he had gone so far to get away from Beacon Hills, but he couldn’t stop talking about it.

“You seriously were… allies with a pack? Properly?” Leo asked cautiously.

“More than allies. Friends,” Isaac pushed. Some part of him wondered if he could in a way, honor Allison. She had wanted her family to be better, maybe he could do that for her. “What we did, we did together.”

This thought, out of everything, was what eased the pain inside of him. Even slightly. He would do right by her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Isaac Lahey!”

Isaac jolted up, wrappers and empty bottles falling as he shook the bed. The room was dark, except for the midday sun pouring in around the closed curtains. He clambered out of bed, garbage covering his bed and floor along with dirty clothes, and stumbled over to the door. He opened it just a hair, wincing at the bright light of the hall.

Romy.

She wore black and grey flannel with ripped jeans, piercings lining her ears and, Isaac noticed, slipped around her belt was a sheath for a knife.

“God, you are a mess. Even for an American,” Romy crinkled her nose at the sight of him.

“Thanks,” Isaac muttered dryly, trying to pat down his tangled and greasy hair.

“Put a shirt on and-” she looked him over again and sighed. “Actually, take a fucking shower and then meet me in the dining room.”

“Why?” Isaac muttered.

“Because you ‘aven’t left your room in three days,” Romy pointed out.

“I went and got food-”

“Three days ago.”

Isaac groggily tried to calculate the day in his head but Romy had already walked away. As she left, Isaac considered simply crawling back into bed. Yet when he turned back, he saw his room for the first time in the light. He winced. His floor was covered with what little clothing he had worn so far and a ton of garbage. Isaac remembered three days beforehand (because fuck, it was three days ago) going down to the dining hall just after lunch and stuffing his bag with chips, soda cans, water bottles, granola bars, and rolls.

He had lived off them since.

His day consisted of sleeping in past noon, eating, curling up in bed, and being grateful for the Argent’s wifi. He would stay on his phone until late past dusk and sleep again. Obviously no showering or getting dressed was involved in those proceedings.

Oh, all this, along with the depressive episodes where he found himself unable to move for hours out of the day. 

Isaac pulled off his sweatpants for the first time in those days and staggered into the bathroom, flicking on the light and moodily fiddling with his mop of hair. Isaac inhaled sharply at the sight of himself. Yikes. Despite the unhealthy amount of sleep he had been getting, bags ringed his eyes. His hair, shiny with filth, stuck up wildly, and his body bore the creases of the sheets he had hardly left over the course of the past week. Isaac needed to shave. Barely. The faint shadow of fuzz lined his chin and cheeks. Isaac wondered if werewolves struggled to grow facial hair or if he was just painfully boyish as is. Derek’s grizzled features seemed to prove the latter.

Isaac paused, frowning. That was the first time he had properly thought of beacon hills as of recent. Usually it was just the feeling of grief consuming him, not actual formulaic thoughts. He shook away the thought and turned on the shower for the first time since being in France. Isaac was, to put it lightly, not coping well.

Hot water poured down his back. The Argents must have stocked the empty room with soap as well. It smelled unfamiliar. Just as everything in this house did. Isaac could not regret losing the last scent of the McCall house as it most likely had been lost in the sweat and filth of the last few days anyways.  
Isaac washed his hair twice to restore it to it’s usual clean curls and he hadn’t realized how uncomfortable he had felt in his own skin until he was clean again. Isaac, still strangely sluggish despite the shower, pulled on the clean jeans he had left and a grey shirt underneath his leather jacket, and, after a glance out the window at the overcast sky, a scarf. Isaac had to think through leaving behind his messenger bag, remembering that his responsibility had been lifted and placed on the Argent vault’s.

The house seemed full once more. There had been a lull during the week, but saturday had brought the usual crowd. From the windows into the courtyard he saw a row of students engaging in target practice. Around the corner was Romy, leaning on the doorway to the dining hall which contained stragglers finishing lunch. Isaac moved to walk past her to get actual food but she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“No, no, American. You ‘aven’t left the house once. You have been in Paris almost a week and you have seen nothing. We are going out,” Romy began to pull him out into the courtyard. Isaac following mostly because he didn’t have the will to say no.

David stopped, crossbow still raised, “you’re still here, then?” He called to him.

Romy ignored him, dragging Isaac towards the gate to the street, and walking left through the crowded Saturday streets.

“I’m sorry, but why’re you dragging me out here?” Isaac asked bitterly as the mix of tourists and tired residents jostled his shoulders.

“We’re getting lunch,” Romy told him. “Because I don’t think David was being sarcastic. I think he actually thought you’d left.”

Isaac couldn’t argue considering his recent state. “How’s Chris?” Isaac finally asked.

“Uncle Chris? He’s been holed up with the Sisters, mostly. Apparently catching up on what happened in America. With Chris gone, the Cavera family are responsible for the West coast,” Romy told him. “He’s also been talking with the parents about the school,” she said with a nudge to his ribs.

“Who?” Isaac asked.

Romy looked mildly surprised, “you don’t know about the Caveras? They’re the biggest hunting clan in Mexico.”

“If it wasn’t in Beacon Hills, it didn’t matter much,” Isaac shrugged.

“You mean you never hunted outside of your town?” She asked, guiding him to a nearby cafe.

“We didn’t… hunt. I don’t think. Not in the sense you did. Things just came to our town and killed people, so we fought back,” Isaac shrugged.

“Strange,” Romy said. She did not continue the conversation and rather stepped forward into the short line of the cafe. “Can you read the menu?” She asked him.

Isaac stared ahead, biting his lip, “no,” he admitted, “not really.”

“Have you considered practicing your French while hiding away in your room?” She teased him.

Isaac shrugged, “haven’t considered doing much of anything, really.”

Romy did not look pitying. More like sympathetic; even understanding. “They have very good sandwiches here,” she told him, rather than comment on his gloomy mood.

“Yeah, sure,” Isaac said dismissively. “I’ll eat whatever.”

“He’ll eat whatever, he says,” Romy said a little mockingly to the cafe employee, who, evidently not speaking English, looked mildly baffled. Romy continued on in French and handing over a bright red bill of money. A €10. Isaac was suddenly struck with the unsettling thought that he had absolutely no money. Romy, noting Isaac’s somewhat embarrassed shift in tone, spoke: “there you are, unsettled again, American! What is it?”

“Don’t have any money,” Isaac muttered.

“Me neither!” Romy said. “Not my money,” she explained. “We do get an allowance, you know. As time spent normally with a job we spend training. Maybe if you participated for a change you would get an allowance too.”

Isaac let out a dry laugh, “I haven’t had an allowance since I was ten years old.”

“Did you have a job?” She asked while they waited for their food.

“Yeah,” Isaac said. When he didn’t explain further, Romy elbowed him. Isaac, cheeks a little red, continued. “I, uh, worked in a graveyard. With my dad. Started when I was fourteen,” he mumbled.

Romy snorted. Causing more shame from Isaac, he hunched forward slightly, frowning. “I don’t think it’s that weird,” she insisted. “I’m an Argent, for christ’s sake. Instead of a job I was practicing with knives.” She grinned, “it’s just that, I was imagining you as the most goth fourteen year old possible.”

Isaac gave off a half laugh. “I wish, but no. I was a pretty boring kid,” terrified of standing out, he didn’t finish the thought out loud.

“Isaac Lahey, you could’ve put Mary Shelley to shame,” Romy teased, seeming to sense his trepidation.

“Mary Shelley?” Isaac frowned. He knew the name, but not where from.

“God, do you Americans not have school? Author of Frankenstein? Lost her virginity on her mother’s grave?” Romy spoke like it was common knowledge.

“Romy, I think the fact that Mary Shelley lost her virginity on her mother’s grave is definitely something only you care to know,” Isaac said, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Romy grinned, “I’m growing to like you, American.”

“A mistake on your part, really,” Isaac told her.

“Hm. We’ll see,” Romy said. She grabbed their food, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and Isaac took the coffee, he still hesitated. “Now what?” She said exasperatedly.

“Thanks,” Isaac muttered, following her out of the cafe.

“Yeah, well. Better than Uncle Chris finding your body covered in empty crisp bags,” Romy said.

“A possibility,” Isaac said.

“So, Isaac. Are you planning on graduating from, what do you call it, high school?” Romy took them to a bench in a local park, crowded with joggers and families.

“Yeah, why?” Isaac frowned.

“Because you haven’t enrolled anywhere!” Romy laughed.

“God, what are you, my therapist?” Isaac rolled his eyes, unabashedly gorging himself on the first real food he’d had in days.

“If I were, I’d tell you to slow the fuck down,” Romy moved to take the food from him, which Isaac adamantly resisted.

“Why’re you suddenly so invested in my life?” Isaac asked her.

“Because I’m tired of the boys I’m usually stuck with,” Romy shrugged.

“I thought you’d be training with the girls. Aren’t they in a different program? Leading and such?” Isaac asked.

Romy frowned, serious for the first time in a while, “didn’t suit me.” She said halfheartedly. “I’m not a leader. I prefer to focus on the fight.”

“I can respect that,” Isaac nodded, understanding the safety, the belonging of following Scott. He trusted him more than he trusted himself.

“I argued for it, and they’re letting me train with the boys,” Romy explained. “Problem is, they’re all idiots. The only one that doesn’t drive me crazy is little Maxie, and he isn’t old enough to train with us yet.”

“Ah, so you took me out to lunch hoping I’d agree to join you all?” Isaac said.

Romy seemed a little embarrassed, “well, it wouldn’t hurt.”

“We’ll see. Running around playing with guns wasn’t exactly what I had in mind coming here,” Isaac muttered.

Romy paused, leaning forward, not eating or speaking, just pondering him. Isaac pretended not to notice.

“Why did you come here, then?” Romy finally asked him. Isaac didn’t respond, acting almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “Isaac, why are you in France?”

“Why do you think?” Isaac snapped, harsher than I might’ve intended.

Romy paused, putting down her food, resting her head on her knee which she tucked into her broad chest. “I think you are running,” she said after a moment. 

“Allison died. You had to leave.” Isaac said nothing, knuckles white as they balled into fists. Romy tilted her head, “Uncle Chris wasn’t what you wanted, but he was the only one you knew boarding a plane.” She paused again, giving him a chance to respond. He didn’t. “I don’t think you know why you’re here. And it certainly wasn’t to help us. To give the Argents a Nogitsune and protect the world. You came here for you. Or you thought you did, at least.”

“What do you know?” Isaac said sharply. “Your family tells you why I’m here, and you believe them. I didn’t come here so everyone could know my goddamn business again.”

“Again?” Romy was paying attention. “Do you want to talk about it, American?”

“Not really,” Isaac said, disgruntled.

“You’ve had a rough go of it, yes?” Romy pushed. “You miss her very much.” Isaac could tell immediately from her sincerity that she spoke from experience. “Do you think it’s your fault?”

Isaac opened his mouth to instinctively reply ‘no’, but stopped. He did. She had died because she had been to busy protecting him to protect herself. He frowned, silent and unwilling to lie when Romy seemed so open.

“You blame yourself. I do too. Not sure if it’s fair or not. How are we supposed to tell when it just makes sense? My mom says it’s just how I’m grieving, the blame, but that doesn’t make it feel any less real, does it?” Romy said, still not expecting an answer. Isaac was silent. Romy shuffled around, eating as if this conversation were somehow normal. Healthy even.

Isaac remained silent.

“Did you watch it happen?”

Isaac actually flinched, feeling as if he had been slapped across the face. Isaac felt blood form on his palms as claws dug in, a blinding anger somewhat unlike him forming. “How could you-What gives you the right-?” He sputtered.

“Sorry. ADHD. I’m just seeing if we can relate,” Romy said with a laugh so harsh and cold it sounded more like a threat.

“You…?” Isaac began. It felt easier to ask her about her problems than to voice his aloud. “Who?” He asked, his mouth dry.

“My dad,” Romy said. She didn’t continue, but not because she seemed unwilling.

“How?” Isaac found himself only able to reply hoarsely. In single word answers.

“Tell you what, I answer a question, you answer one of mine,” Romy said.

“Fine,” he looked to her expectantly.

“I already answered ‘who’, Isaac,” Romy teased. “Your turn.” The humor died from her eyes. “Did you watch her die?”

Isaac exhaled, eyes briefly closed, “yeah. I did,” he said softly. After another pause, he opened his eyes. “How?” He asked her.

“Depends on who you ask, really,” Romy’s tone poured bitterness. “The family says an alpha killed him. I say he killed himself.”

“But you saw it,” Isaac pressed.

“Your turn,” she said with a somewhat terrifying grin. “How did it feel?” The grin was a mask. Isaac could see it projected in her eyes.

“How did it feel?” Isaac repeated hollowly. “Like nothing.” He spoke carefully. “Didn’t believe it. Don’t even think it sunk in when I touched her body.” He thought further. “It hurt,” he finished simply. He returned to her. “You saw it,” he pushed on. “So what exactly happened.”

Romy paused for a moment, anger replacing wit. “My dad suffered from nonfatal injuries from an alpha. Technically, nonfatal,” she added bitterly. “Then he put a bullet in his skull.”

Isaac frowned, then nodded. “Al…” Isaac choked on her name. “Her mom went out the same way. He was bit, wasn’t he?”

“What killed her?” Romy diverted the question.

“An Oni. Japanese demon. Controlled by a Nogitsune walking around in a copy of my friend’s body,” Isaac said coldly.

“Never met one,” Romy said. Isaac couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

A dark thought occurred to Isaac, “why were you there? When… when your dad got bit?”

“It was one of my first hunts. I was fourteen,” she saw Isaac’s horrified expression. She didn't tell him his question was up, she elaborated. Defending her family. “It… it wasn’t supposed to be what it was,” she said firmly. “There had been one omega sited in the area. Thought he was camping out in this abandoned building. It was a scouting mission. The omega had left, too. We didn't realize… it was a beta. His alpha had been hiding out in the building. They were waiting on the rest of their pack, I think.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Isaac admitted. He knew it meant absolutely nothing. “Alphas… they’re really worse,” Isaac said. “I fought my friend Scott, when he was still a beta, he kicked my ass,” Isaac laughed. “But still, fighting the alpha pack, it went from fighting a wolf to fighting a bear.”

“Your friend… someone you consider a friend, he’s an alpha?” Romy seemed wary now.

“He’s different,” Isaac insisted. “There’s something about him. He didn't kill anyone. He just… led us.”

“Led you?” Romy sounded cautious still. “You mean hunters listened to a wolf?”

“Yeah. We did what had to be done. Together,” Isaac insisted, pride growing as well as pain for his old home. His conviction had not wavered. He couldn’t come back.

“So, red eyes or no?” She asked for clarification.

“Yeah. In the end. Red eyes. But… okay, our emissary said he was a true alpha. So he didn't have to take that power from anyone, he sort of, made it on his own,” Isaac tried to explain the absurdity of Beacon Hills to an outsider.

“I am going to believe you, American, but if you’re fucking with me,” Romy said almost scoldingly.

“You’ll what?” Isaac said with a smirk.

“You think I can’t kick your ass like your ‘true alpha’ friend?” Romy teased.

“I’m afraid to doubt you,” Isaac snorted.

“Wise choice, you weirdo,” Romy shook her head. “I don’t understand how your little town worked, but it is… interesting.” Romy paused. “And you still left?”

“I couldn’t stay. It… the town didn't feel right,” Isaac struggled to explain.

“What about your family? Your mom and dad, where are they?” Romy asked.

“Dead,” Isaac said. “Brother too,” he said a little too calmly.

“Ah, didn't have to watch them croak too, did you?” She attempted to lighten the mood. Isaac said nothing. She seemed to wilt away from the fact that evidently, he had been a bit too involved in his parent’s death. “Why don’t we go back? Want me to spar with one of the boys? You can see me knock David on his ass.”

“Yeah, let’s go back.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Isaac!” Chris was knocking on Isaac’s door the following morning, opening it after he didn't answer. 

“Christ, son,” he said, staring at the chaos before him.

“It’s rude to come barging in,” Isaac groaned.

“Yeah, and it’s rude to stay in someone else’s house as a shut in,” Chris told him before tearing the blankets off the bed as he had done to Allison when she didn't want to go to school. Chris tried not to think about that.

“What, you can’t just leave me alone?” Isaac covered his eyes from the blinding light from the hall.

“Because. You refuse to engage. It’s worrying,” Chris said. “I’ve enrolled you in Claude Monet.”

“What?!” Isaac shot up.

“It’s a private school that the other kids your age attend,” Chris said, tone calm. “I also have the number of the therapist recommended for you. But I wanted to give you the chance to call yourself.”

Isaac clambered out of bed, overwhelmed by frustration and aggravation. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” Isaac snarled. “I’m not your kid!” Isaac knew it would wound him, but he found himself unable to stop. “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m responsible for you,” Chris said, harsher now. “I promised Melissa I would take care of you, and this is me doing that. If you can’t take it, I’ll get you a flight home.”

Isaac forced himself to calm, “I’m sorry, just…” he sighed. “It’s just strange.”

“Anger is to be expected,” Chris dismissed him. “They have classes in English for exchange students. You’ll be taking those,” he moved right on to what he had said before. “Can you call this… Doctor Bhatt?”

“I’ll do it,” Isaac said grudgingly.

“And… clean up your room,” he stared around with less disgust, and more masked worry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac moved to usher him out.

“Isaac, I’ll drop off your uniform later today. I expect your room to be cleaned,” Argent said firmly. He was a father. That wasn’t something you just lost with your child.

For Isaac, he had not lost the tension gained from any paternal figure. A few years ago, such a simple request would have resulted in a black eye or bruised wrist. So, regardless of intent, Isaac was filled with anxiety rather than annoyance for Chris’s awkward parenting.

Once Chris had left, Isaac let out an exhausted sigh. He pulled on clothes, feeling resentful of the attempt to control Isaac’s life. Control. Parent. Take care of. Strange.

He went downstairs, seeing the younger children running in the courtyard. Isaac proceeded to the dining hall, hoping to run into Romy, the only familiarity he had. Isaac realized Argent had woken him up before breakfast was over. Feeling somewhat grateful, he proceeded to get himself coffee, black, and a bagel. He stared around, not seeing Romy anywhere. The only familiar face was Leo. Isaac approached him.

“Can I…?” He gestured to the seat across from him.

“Oui- yes,” Leo nodded. He was eating cereal, talking to a girl across from him. “This is Marie. Isaac is American,” was how he introduced him.

“Ah! You’re from California!” Marie said enthusiastically. “It is beautiful there. I would love to spend a year there,” she said wistfully, her English fluid and immaculate.

“Is there an exchange program there or something?” Isaac asked her.

“No, I graduate this year and I am going to spend a year with my father out of the country. Hunting some, mostly dealing weapons,” Marie told him.

“You like the family business, huh?” Isaac asked.

“People are easier to control than wolves,” Marie shrugged. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you, Isaac,” Marie smiled softly. “Conflicting things.”

“From who?” Isaac asked sharply.

“Ah, my father said Uncle Chris was coming home with cousin Allison’s boyfriend. And David said he didn't believe you,” Marie said honestly. “Doesn’t seem to trust that you killed what you said you killed. Or that you were friends with wolves.”

“Of course he did,” Isaac muttered.

“Don’t worry, I don’t assume you are a liar, I just struggle to believe you,” Marie told him.

“Been hearing that a lot,” Isaac sighed. “You seen Romy?” He asked Leo.

“The ah, training room,” Leo frowned. “The gym.”

“Where’s that?” Isaac asked.

“Left of here. Downstairs,” Leo pointed out into the hallway.

Isaac thanked him, awkwardly said goodbye to Marie, who he really wasn’t sure he liked, and wandered to the door which reflected the door to the vault perfectly. Inside were finished wooden stairs instead of stone and Isaac was immediately hit with the stench of sweat which reminded him of the locker room.

A strange mixture of sensations beyond this sent Isaac spiraling.

The first being the descent underground, tangible barely by the temperature change.

This would’ve meant nothing.

If it weren’t accompanied by the sound of a fist pounding into what sounded incredibly solid and bodylike.

Those two combined feelings caused Isaac’s heart rate to spike and for him to reach out, with a desperate, iron grip, to cling to the railing of the stairs. As if still expecting a blow to land on his back and send him tumbling forward. Blood was pounding in his ears as all logic abandoned him.

“Tiens? Est-ce qu'il y a quelqu'un?” The sound stopped, and a wary voice called out to him. Isaac intended to reply but choked on his words, his limbs shaking. “Je jure devant Dieu que si quelqu'un essaie de me faire peur, je te poignarde!” The voice continued sharply. Isaac could hear footsteps approaching but he still couldn’t get himself to move.

A blade was being unsheathed. Isaac still did not move. The sound nowhere near as frightening as say, a breaking cup.

“American!” Romy let out a sigh of relief, knife lowering. She was drenched in sweat, her curled hair partially caked to her forehead. She wore a sports bra and gloves. “I could’ve stabbed you, you know? What’re you doing lurking around like that?” She left him on the stairs, replacing the weapon in a wall adorned with such charming little ornaments. Everything from a Kira-esque Katana to a crossbow. Some of the weapons were foam or wood, obviously meant for practice, others were less nonlethal.

“Nothing...thought I heard something,” Isaac muttered, half lying. He was finally able to move again.

He followed her into the room, which was illuminated by bright white lights and had mats padding patches of the floor and exercise equipment along one wall. Isaac realized what the sound was. A punching bag, still swaying slightly from Romy’s hits, took up one corner of the room. A thick metal door was at the opposite end of the room. Windows along the same wall revealing a heavily soundproofed shooting range. Locked in metal cages within the back room was a small arsenal.

“What’re you doing down here, American?” Romy shook the sweat from her hair like a dog, her burly body and toned stomach shining and tense from the exercise. She moved to steady the swinging bag, practicing blows without actually making contact.

“Did you talk to Chris?” He asked her.

She didn't look at him, continuing her silent jabbing motions. “I may have,” she admitted.

“Why?” Isaac asked, sharper than intended.

“You weren’t exactly working towards enrolling. Or doing anything, really,” she landed one forceful blow, packing enough punch to send the bag swinging back. Isaac flinched behind her. “Uncle Chris seemed a bit preoccupied and hadn’t noticed. So I simply asked him if you’d be going to our school.” She landed another blow, Isaac gritted his teeth.

“Why do you think you need to help me?” Isaac asked her a little resentfully.

Romy turned to look at him, a slight twinkle in her brown eyes. “What would you prefer?” She asked him. “I do nothing. You do nothing. Then what?”

Isaac shrugged dismissively. “I don’t want to do anything.”

“Might as well kill yourself then, yes?” Romy said sarcastically.

Isaac said nothing.

“Look, you came here. You killed off your old life, but you didn't end it. So you want something from this. From life. So let me help you, American,” Romy tossed Isaac a set of gloves. Not the thick, bulky boxing gloves, just simple wraps to prevent skinning the knuckles from the leather of the bag.

“Not a fan of punching things,” Isaac muttered after catching them deftly.

“It’s good fun, I think,” she stood back, gesturing to the bag behind her. “Give it a try. Better than doing nothing. Promise.”

Isaac stood, taking off his jacket and pulling on the gloves. He made to swing at the bag halfheartedly, impacting it just enough that it rattled on the chain but did not swing.

Romy sighed, not quite disappointed, but somewhat annoyed. Isaac let out a little yelp. Romy had shoved him. Almost knocked him over.

“Do you have no anger, American?” She spread her feet into a wide stance, fists raised. “Or do you need a more engaging target?” She made to swipe playfully at his head. Isaac ducked it, flinching, arms going to cover his head. Romy stopped, arms lowered. “Are you okay, American?” She asked cautiously.

“Fine,” Isaac muttered, anger rising, not at her, but at himself. He moved to swing at her. He was too focused on force than accuracy. She simply stepped out of the way.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, circling him. “You mean to tell me you cannot throw a punch, but you can fight a wolf?”

“What, you think you can just punch a werewolf?” Isaac said angrily, turning to follow her, moving to swing at her torso instead of her head. She shoved it away easily, but shook her hand out, as if the force had hurt her. She looked confused for a moment. Isaac remembered, with a pang of fear, that he had the strength of a wolf. If he didn't contain it, his secret would not last long.

“I love punching werewolves. Just to see the look on their faces,” Romy swung at his ribs. Isaac dodged it out of old paranoia and practice. Not skill. “You act funny, American.”

“I’m fine,” Isaac said again, moving to shove her off balance. At the last second Romy sidestepped him, causing Isaac to fall forward. Romy also caught him deftly, pulling him back to his feet.

“You cannot punch, so what is your weapon?” Romy asked.

“I dunno,” Isaac said awkwardly. He couldn’t use weapons. He couldn’t throw a punch. What if Romy started to wonder about his true defense mechanism?

“You say you cannot punch a werewolf, I disagree,” Romy approached the wall of weaponry. With in a small cubby hole labeled “Romarin” was a pair of iron knuckles with ribbed grooves on the surface meant to scrape skin. The tip of these grooves appeared to be made of a porous wood.

“Knuckles. That makes punching werewolves work?” Isaac asked skeptically, wary of the weapon anyways.

“These are not ordinary knuckles, American,” Romy referred to the strange material on their tip. 

“This is cork made from ashwood. Soaked and polished in wolfsbane,” she brushed over the tips almost fondly.

“Don’t they break?” Isaac asked, now cautious and unwilling to approach the metal.

“They’re cork,” Romy said, almost teasing. “I have to replace them every few fights,” she pulled out a handful of the wooden tips from the drawer, grooves on the back showed that they screwed onto the knuckles.

“Of course. You found a way to make punching werewolves hurt,” Isaac sighed.

“Guns are too easy. My aim is shit anyways. Daggers are alright, but you wouldn’t believe how shocked wolves are to find themselves being uppercutted by a human,” Romy grinned. She replaced the materials and took off her gloves. “Come on, I’m starving.” She pulled on a t-shirt and headed for the stairs.

“You always work out first thing in the morning?” Isaac asked her as Romy headed for the dining hall. She grabbed fistfulls of bread and a bowl of cereal, crashing down at the table Leo had recently left. “...and eat nothing but bread?”

“I need carbs,” Romy spoke around a full mouth. “You could use ‘em, tall lanky boy.”

“Fine,” Isaac scoffed, reaching over to steal a croissant, which Romy tiredly slapped away. Isaac took it anyways. After doing so, Isaac dropped it. “Ow,” he hissed, rubbing his hand furiously.

“I did not slap you that hard, American,” Romy teased.

“I know, it’s just…” Isaac stopped, frowning. He registered what had happened and why he could not finish his sentence. His hand was irritated by the wolfsbane residue on Romy’s hand from her knuckles. He decided he wouldn’t eat the croissant. It was unsettling. How casually poison for him was passed around this house.

Romy stood, having ignored Isaac’s strange behavior.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. You want to go out later? I think me and Jeanie are going shopping,” Romy stood, hands still full of food, and headed out for her room.

“Yeah, sure,” Isaac stammered slightly, and stood as well, still feeling surprised that he was being invited along.

“You’re an awkward little man,” Romy teased him at his nervousness.

“Hey! I thought I was tall,” Isaac pushed her jokingly, once again not knowing his strength, caused Romy to stumbled forward slightly, but she laughed.

“Hey!” A sharp voice called to the pair and suddenly a rather grumpy woman was in Isaac’s face. Louise. “You stay away from her,” she snapped.

Isaac, feeling honestly surprised, stumbled back.

“Maman!” Romy seemed equally surprised and pulled Louise away.

“Reste en dehors, le Romarin. Vous ne devriez pas être autour de lui,” Louise said sharply. Isaac listened as best he could. She didn't want Romy near him, it seemed.

“Maman, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? Il est meilleur que la plupart des idiots ici!” Romi defended him. Claiming he was better than the other… idiots?

“Wait, she’s your mom?” Isaac suddenly processed that Romy was calling the woman Maman.

“Yes, and a stupid one at that!” Romy snapped. “Why’re you acting so strange?”

“Parlant anglais, pour lui?” Louise said.

“Yes. I’m speaking English for his sake, as you feel the need to talk like he isn’t here!” Romy snapped.

“Everything alright?” Isaac jumped, Valerie had approached from behind him.

“Ceci est sur toi. Et je ne suis pas autorisé à essayer de le réparer,” Louise muttered to her friend cryptically. Isaac got: this is on you and I… can’t fix it? He understood more than Romy did. Louise did not want her daughter befriending a werewolf.

“Je parle français... pour entendre ce qui se dit,” Isaac defended himself awkwardly. He told he spoke French well enough to understand her. He hoped that’s what he said. Louise let out a huff of annoyance.

“Il a le droit d'être ici. Indépendamment de vos réservations,” Valérie said coolly to Louise. He had a right to be here, she said. Even with her reservations. Isaac felt a growing respect for Valerie, and a wariness of Louise.

“Come on, Isaac,” Romy muttered, pulling Isaac away from the quietly bickering pair. “What was that about?” She said to him exasperatedly. “My mother is rarely so paranoid. Even with those out of the family.”

Isaac felt guilty for lying to her. But also afraid that if she knew the truth, his new friend would gladly punch his lights out with those knuckles of hers.

“Thanks for defending me,” Isaac muttered.

“She got in your face! It was uncalled for!” Romy bursted out.

Isaac continued to shift uncomfortably.

“You wait here while I shower,” Romy sat Isaac down on her bed in her far cleaner room. “Best to keep you in screaming distance while my mother is on the warpath.”

“Unless she finds me in your room while you’re in the shower and kills me on sight,” Isaac pointed out helpfully.

Romy stopped, “right.” She thought for a moment. “Go back to your room, I’ll come find you.”

“Good plan,” Isaac muttered, he left the room, hunched over and feeling more surrounded than ever by these strangers.

“You,” Louise was back. “If you hurt her… I will not only kill you. I’ll make it hurt,” she cornered him against the wall.

“I don’t know what got you to hate me, but funny enough, I like your daughter. A whole lot more than I like you,” Isaac snapped.

“I don’t hate you, but I know what you are. Despite my naive cousin, I know not to trust a wild animal,” Louise hissed. “Tread carefully, wolf,” and with that she stormed off, leave a disheveled and annoyed Isaac behind.

“Damn Argents,” Isaac muttered, storming off to his room which, rather than a haven, was another responsibility to induce anxiety.

He, rather aggressively, grabbed the trash can from the corner of his room and began stuffing it with the accumulated garbage. Despite his annoyance, he did feel calmer once his clothes had become at least a neat pile and his garbage was contained.

“Isaac,” Chris spoke from the doorway and Isaac jumped.

“I’ll finish it,” he said automatically, looking guiltily to the clothes yet to be put away. Anxiety had spiked the moment the thought had occurred to him.

“You’ve done fine, Isaac,” Argent frowned at his anxiety. “I’m not mad.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Isaac muttered, embarrassed by his overreaction.

“Here,” Argent handed Isaac a pair of black dress pants, a white button down, a red and gold tie, and a black blazer.

“God, now I really will look like I just got out of a catholic prep school,” Isaac muttered.

Argent laughed, “it’s how most schools are over here. Uniforms.”

“Great,” Isaac sighed. “Thanks,” he said after a moment.

Argent, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I hope you’re okay here, Isaac.”

“We’ll see,” Isaac muttered.

“What do you mean?” Argent asked warily.

“Nothing,” Isaac lied, not wanting to cause trouble.

“I know not everyone wants you here,” Argent began carefully. “Do you need me to take care of anything?” The protective way he phrased it made Isaac feel a little warmer towards the serious man.

“No, but thanks,” Isaac said. “I, uh, made friends with Romy. Louise’s kid,” he offered to satiate Argent’s concern.

“I’m glad. Louise is a good woman. A little stubborn at times,” Argent said with a laugh.

“Sounds like another Argent I know,” Isaac said, causing Chris to roll his eyes.

“I’ll talk to you later, Isaac,” Chris said, and with that, he left Isaac to his solitude.

“Stubborn,” Isaac muttered. “More like paranoid.”

“Come on, American!” Romy rapped on his door, hair now soaked with water instead of sweat which had darkened the top of her shirt which she wore under a jean jacket.

“Come on where?” Isaac asked.

“Who knows. I think Jeanie wants to get some new clothes,” Romy said.

“Great. It’s going to be that kind of trip, is it?” Isaac complained. Although a strange fondness had formed for this plan, as it reminded him of the times he had been dragged along by Lydia and… and Allison. He had to at least think of her name. If he couldn’t do that, as if he could ever get better.

“So rude, Lahey. Come on,” Romy said, heading for the courtyard. “Oh yeah, almost forgot,” Romy dug into her pocket and handed Isaac a wad of cash. “Got Valerie to cough up some allowance for you, but if you aren’t training with us, don’t expect anymore.” She told him.

“I could always get a job,” Isaac said.

“Of course, when able to speak maybe a sentence in French,” Romy said. “I’m proud of you for standing up to my mother and everything, but your French is bad.”

“Fair enough,” Isaac shrugged. “So my other option is what, learn all about guns?” Isaac said dryly.

“Among other things,” Romy told him. “Maybe you could teach us something. You come from a different world, befriending werewolves and such.”

“I guess. But I don’t know what you should expect. I’m not some crazy hunter with good aim and a bunch of info on demons and monsters and shit,” Isaac shrugged.

“So, what, you survived on luck?” Romy teased.

Isaac was saved from replying by the appearance of Jeanie.

“Vous êtes en retard,” Jeanie said. “Ah, Isaac, you’re coming too?” She switched to English at the sight of him. “I was just saying, Romy is late.” She paused. “And wet.”

“Yeah, I’m coming, if that’s okay,” he said a little uncertainly.

“I do not care,” Jeanie shrugged. “My boots were ruined last weekend. I need new ones. After that, would you want to see the city?” She asked.

“I’m fine with whatever you want to do,” Isaac said, still fearing intrusion.

“You will have to form an opinion someday, Isaac,” Jeanie had taken up teasing him now.

Isaac didn't bother to reply and stepped in behind the two girls as they walked side by side out onto the streets. They were chatting in English. Something about David skipping school. Isaac, despite their efforts for him to understand, didn't participate much.

“Crétin,” Jeanie muttered. “Dumbass,” she supplied for Isaac. “Always bragging about the family. No subtlety.”

Isaac returned to the conversation. “Wait, has he told people about your family?”

“He’s a dumbass, not suicidal,” Jeanie scoffed. “He talks shit about us selling weapons and travelling. He skipped school to show off his…” she looked for the words. “Acrobatics? Skill with moving. Climbing walls and shit. You Americans called it… parkour for a time?”

Isaac snorted. “And this was recent?”

“Yes. Last week,” Jeanie laughed. “Uncle Gabriel was pissed.”

“Gabriel was pissed? He seems pretty nice,” Isaac asked.

“He is, as long as you don’t act as stupid as his son,” Romy laughed.

Jeanie, without announcing herself, turned into a shop which seemed to sell camping gear. Guess there’s a store for everything in big cities. Romy followed, pulling Isaac along by his arm when he hesitated.

“Why’re we…?” Isaac started to ask.

“Good boots here,” Jeanie said, looking at a row of thick leather hiking boots thoughtfully. “You need something sturdy for our… family trips,” Jeanie winked.

“You could get some new shoes too, American,” Romy looked down at his tattered boots. She wasn’t mocking him. It was simply a statement of fact.

“I’m fine,” Isaac felt a little embarrassed all the same. He also knew better than to spend all this money now.

“What happened to your old boots, Jeanie?” Romy sat down beside her, fiddling with a pocket knife she’d taken from one of the shelves.

“Putain de loups,” Jeanie muttered.

“Fucking wolves,” Romy supplied for Isaac. “Did they ruin your boots too?” She asked with a frown.

“Rude! They did not ‘ruin’ my legs!” Jeanie snapped.

“What?” Was all Isaac could manage, voice softer in his surprise like always.

“Ah,” Jeanie said with a sardonic smile. “Had a rough time last hunt.” With that, she pulled up the leg of her jeans revealing a layer of white gauze wrapping down to the middle of her foot.  
Isaac could not see the wound but he could smell the half healed cuts. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” was all Isaac could think to say.

“They’re just flesh wounds. No lasting tissue damage,” Jeanie shrugged. Isaac saw her grimace when she unrolled her pant leg back down.

“You… your family took you on a hunt? Like that, that dangerous?” Isaac asked.

“It was my hunt!” Jeanie defended, scooping up her boots smartly and heading for the checkout.

Isaac was about to reply when Jeanie started speaking in French to the cashier. He shut his mouth, feeling a little uneasy. Why was she so casual about getting hurt like that? What kind of family sends their daughter somewhere so dangerous?

In Beacon Hills they went to a fight out of necessity. Not some training exercise.

“You okay?” Romy bumped shoulders with him, although her shoulder really met his elbow.

“I… I don’t know. It seems… not right,” Isaac said slowly.

“I know our family is different,” Romy said.

“Different,” Isaac scoffed. “More like a crime.”

“What do you mean?” Romy seemed defensive now.

“We are still in a shop,” Jeanie said sharply to the pair. “If you want to deconstruct our family, how about we do so outside?”

Isaac nodded, following her back onto the streets.

“Let’s get coffee, yes?” Jeanie pushed onwards despite the slight tension between the pair behind her.

Isaac noticed, with a bitterness in his gut, that Jeanie walked with a slight limp.


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me about the hunt,” Isaac asked Jeanie once they had settled in a nearby cafe.

“Well,” Jeanie began slowly, hands cupping the coffee in front of her. “I am the oldest girl in this generation with any interest in leadership. Initially it was supposed to be Marie, I think you met her, but she’d rather be our CEO than our general. This means that I am next in line to lead. The other girls who graduated, they failed. They either didn't want to or didn't have the ability somewhere along in their training. So it falls to me. The next in line to graduate.” Isaac said nothing, allowing her to go on. “I am doing well,” some pride entered her voice. “I was asked to lead a hunt. For a young pack who had murdered someone in Beauvais,” Isaac opened his mouth to ask a question. “A city. North of here. It is rare that packs are stupid enough to stay in Paris for long, but they gladly attack in neighboring towns.”

“And… you were told to lead? After they had just killed someone?” Isaac had to interject.

“Don’t you accuse us like that,” Jeanie spoke firmly. “I knew what I was doing.”

“You’re seventeen,” Isaac said.

“So are you,” Romy defended her.

“Should I continue?” Jeanie interjected.

The pair shut up.

“I led a… division. You could call it. My mother and father, along with others. Veterans of the hunt. A group of newer graduates in their twenties as well,” Jeanie explained. “It wasn’t kids. Our family didn't send a bunch of children to die.”

“They sent you,” Isaac said.

“I had to learn somehow,” Jeanie said coldly. “I was protected.”

“So how did it happen, then?” Isaac snapped back.

“I made a wrong call,” Jeanie told him. “It was a hotel. Close quarters. Too many civilians.” Jeanie sighed. “When I was learning, I made the calls. They listen to me unless they think there is an immediate threat,” Jeanie continued. “So I decided. We would isolate the pack. They had rented four neighboring rooms in the hotel. Fourth floor. Had to clear the civilians. Fire alarm, obviously was the best bet. But we could not risk losing them in the chaos,” Jeanie seemed deadly serious. As if still in the midst of strategy. “We had… what is the English word for it? They make sounds. It hurts wolves.”

“We call them sonic emitters,” Isaac interjected.

“Okay, sonic emitters,” Jeanie nodded. “We set them up to go off at the same times as the fire alarms. So the other guests wouldn’t notice them in the evacuation.”

“When did it go wrong?” Isaac asked quietly.

“We were mostly worried about the evacuation. A mob of humans is far more dangerous than a pack of werewolves,” Jeanie said with a dry laugh. “Everyone left okay. The pack was disoriented. Everything went to plan.” Jeanie seemed angry. A cold, harsh anger which sits underneath the surface. “You plan and you plan… it never matters.”

Isaac felt cold. All he could hear were Scott’s speeches about how they could do this, about how they were together on this one, and how it hadn’t mattered when hell broke loose.

“The alpha recovered first. She rallied her betas and it was dangerous terrain. We knew,” Jeanie hissed, she slammed her fist on the table, “we fucking knew it would be close quarters.” Isaac then realized that the rage in her eyes was not at the wolf who had maimed her, but at her and her family for being foolish enough to believe there wouldn’t be casualties. “Yet most of us had brought long range weapons. Long range…” she scoffed. “In a narrow corridor with flashing red lights and too crowded to tell who was who… The wolves, the lucky bastards could smell out who the enemy was. We risked shooting blind. So we used daggers and bullets if we were lucky. We should’ve brought swords. Clubs. Anything to use when in a corner…” Jeanie drifted off and her hand went to her wounded legs.

“I was in a corner. And the pack was trying to break our unit up. It was a very long corridor. It was a long way to get dragged by claws digging into your legs. Maman, mother, shot the wolf before he got me to the stairwell. After that… I don’t know how we won. Someone killed the alpha so the betas left ran. I wasn’t there for that part. Dad carried me out. It was chaos outside as the fire men tried to figure out what had happened. So our people just snuck away. No fatalities on our end, but… I was in bed for weeks,” Jeanie finished.

“I still don’t understand,” Isaac finally spoke. “How did you make the wrong call?”

“I should’ve gotten the pack out, not the people!” Jeanie said fiercely. “We should’ve fought them in the streets or… anywhere! How could I look at that fucking narrow hallway and those closed off rooms and think we could win? That our guns would be enough?!”

“Jeanie, stop talking like that!” Romy interrupted. “You aren’t responsible, and you’re still in the running, yes?”

“I’m next in line, yes,” Jeanie muttered grudgingly. “No fatalities. We removed the pack,” Jeanie nodded.

“No fatalities? You killed members of the pack, didn't you?” Isaac finally spoke.

“They murdered a woman,” Jeanie seemed uncomfortable now. “Her body was found in a dumpster with ‘strange animal wounds’ and our intel had spoken of a pack trying to dominate the town. We connected the dots,” Jeanie insisted.

“Do you know who killed her?” Isaac pushed. Isaac felt resentful. He didn't blame them. He blamed their family for making them unquestioning soldiers. Jeanie was training to be a leader, but she was still a pawn.

“One of the wolves. I thought that was clear,” Jeanie glanced to Romy as if he was a bit thick.

“No, which one,” Isaac leaned forward. “Which wolf?” They didn't respond. “Come on, was it the alpha you killed? Did you know which beta? Was it organized, was the pack planning together to kill someone?”

The pair was silent.

“You don’t know any of that, do you?” Isaac said.

“Why are you here if you hate us so much?” Jeanie snapped back.

“I don’t hate you,” Isaac said. “I just think you have done some bad things. Not you specifically, but all of you. You… shouldn’t there be a trial? Or something? You’re killing people because you think you know something.”

“We aren’t killing people. We’re defending ourselves against werewolves. When you’re fighting them, it isn’t about justice, it’s about survival,” Jeanie protested.

“You went into their home. You didn't ask questions. You attacked them, and you expected them to lie down and take it?” Isaac said sharply. “Did you send them a warning?” Jeanie said nothing. “No? Did you ask them to leave, or even try and confront them about the murder?” Silence. “But there werewolves. They’re a pack so, if one of them - maybe, maybe! - killed someone, you have to take on all of them. Guns blazing,” he said coldly. Jeanie still said nothing and Romy squirmed uncomfortably. “I can’t blame you. Especially for what happened to you. But you can’t act like what your people allowed, what they taught you, like it’s right.”

“You… you killed. You fought. And… yours is justified?” Jeanie spoke slowly. She was smarter than to accuse him, but she had to know.

“It wasn’t always. We assumed this girl was a kanima, she wasn’t,” Isaac felt bitter. “We almost killed her. She’s my friend now and at the start I was prepared to kill her.” He sighed. “But then… there were others. And they… they hurt people. We saw them do it. They came into our town and they took our people.”

“We saw the body. A wolf killed her,” Romy interjected. Not aggressive, still just curious. Reluctant.

“Okay, say one of their pack went rogue. Say they were going to stop him. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe they killed her together, but you didn't bother to find out,” Isaac said. “Jeanie, how do you expect to be a leader when you don’t question anything?”

“You talk like you’ve seen this before. What you accuse us of doing. Of killing without justice,” Jeanie did not reply and instead pushed on.

“Your family,” Isaac started. “I wasn’t there for this part, but I buried the body. Your… third cousin? Second aunt? Her name was Kate. She burned down a house with a family inside. Because they were wolves and she decided that she had the right to decide.” He thought back on the broken man Derek had been when they had first met. How that burned house had caused it. The stories of the monster Peter had become from it. “There were children in that house.”

Romy shuddered. “Jeanie…” She turned to her cousin. “Do you think you really led that mission?”

“Yes,” Jeanie said sharply. “I… I don’t know,” she frowned. “Isaac, you talk too confidently. But I don’t think you lie.”

“So?” Isaac wasn’t sure what he wanted from this, but there had to be something to be gained. Not just talking mindlessly about how bad things were.

“I will… consider what you have said,” she said slowly. “You would do well actually fighting with us. No one else will listen to you if you can’t prove action to your words.”

“I, uh, I could,” Isaac decided to meet her halfway. “I don’t know how to do… any of what you do, but I could.”

“You’re a little scary, American,” Romy laughed a little nervously.

“Not as scary as your fucked up family,” Isaac replied.


	6. Chapter 6

“Isaac, why aren’t you awake yet?” Argent hadn’t bothered to wait after he knocked. Isaac groaned, voice muffled by blankets. “God, just get dressed. I set an alarm for you, what happened?”

“I turned it off,” Isaac mumbled.

“Jesus christ,” Argent muttered. “You can’t keep doing this, Isaac.”

Isaac sat up, feeling assaulted by accusations first thing in the morning.

“You gotta shape up, otherwise you can’t stay here. You’re going to school today. And did you call the therapist or whatever?” Argent said, rubbing his temples.

Isaac, who had intended to make a sarcastic retort, simply shook his head a little guiltily.

“Okay, I… I haven’t done my job either,” Argent said, speaking with his hands as much as his words, gesturing awkwardly. “I’ll call this guy, and… and you’re going to go to school, and you’re going to go to therapy, I’ll schedule it, okay?”

Isaac felt a strange nausea. Argent was actually trying to parent him, he realized. What an uncomfortable state of affair. The best he could do was grudgingly agree, “fine, I’ll go to school.”

“Good,” Argent actually looked relieved, obviously sharing in the discomfort. “Uh, you only have about twenty minutes, because you slept through the alarm… So,” with that, and an awkward nod, he left.

“Great,” Isaac muttered.

He glanced at the uniform he had abandoned on his desk chair and let out a scoff in his silent bed room. Isaac was, somewhat self inflicted, miserable. He had to wear dress pants and a tie, no scarf, and no coat either! Their replacement for a jacket in the warmer weather was a hideous blazer. Yes, he was being a bit ridiculous. After rather poorly tying his tie, Isaac entered the hall, realizing that he had no books or a bag or anything. In an attempt to seem less useless, Isaac grabbed his messenger bag, which contained at best a crumpled sheet of paper with old chemistry notes on it and a broken pencil.

“Late on your first day,” Romy tutted. She stood alone, leaning against the gate to the courtyard.

“Where’s everyone else?” Isaac asked. “What, you’re the only one that goes to school?”

“No, I’m the only one who waits for the stupid American,” Romy told him. “They all already left.”

“Oh,” Isaac shuffled his feet, “thanks,” he muttered.

“I give few shits about my first class. It is economics,” Romy told him.

Isaac laughed, thinking fondly of Coach, “fair enough.”

“And you take English classes, yes? Lazy American,” Romy chided him.

“Stupid American, lazy American, do you have nothing better to do besides insult me?” Isaac replied.

“Not you, America,” Romy nodded wisely. Isaac couldn’t disagree.

“Do you guys just walk to school or…?” Isaac asked as they rounded the corner without an obvious destination.

“It is four blocks. Not hard,” Romy said.

The school was an older building with a small green. Surrounding it was more of the large, much to wealthy, residential buildings along with some chic coffee shops and second hand book stores. Isaac wondered if Paris had always been invaded by hipsters. Allison probably would’ve loved it.

Isaac stopped, heart immediately caught in his throat. Fuck. He didn't need to be hit by grief. Not now. He blinked very fast, not even sure if tears were an option any more, and tried to focus on Romy. On anything else. Thankfully, there was plenty to look at. The entrance hall reeked of the money the entire neighborhood had. The ceiling was high, with an old golden trim swirling across the ceiling. The windows lining the top of the walls were modern, though, allowing lots of morning light to enter as students drifted to class.

“Madame Caron!” Romy quite literally shouted to a teacher about to enter an office.

She obviously cringed. “Oui, mademoiselle d'argent?”

“J'ai un nouvel étudiant pour vous!” With this, Romy dragged Isaac over to her. “American,” she told her. “So, English speaker,” she told her, almost apologetically, making Isaac even more flustered.

“Parlez-vous français, monsieur ...?” Madame Caron asked. Isaac paused, thinking hard. Asking if I speak French, he thought, come on, don’t fuck this up.

“Lahey. Monsieur Lahey, et je parle très peu,” Isaac told her he spoke very little.

“Okay, Monsieur Lahey. I will start with English then,” Caron said a little huffily. “I am the head of this school. I will provide you with your schedule. It will be the classes with the international students. Claude Monet is a respectable institution. We expect respect and hard work. In return we will help you succeed, yes?” She gave him the obviously standard lecture for new students. Isaac tried hard not to respond sarcastically. “This is the part where you respond, Mister Lahey,” she chastised him with her own humor, letting him know that she wasn’t a total dick.

“Yes, Madame Caron,” he said.

“Vous devriez être dans votre propre classe, Mlle Argent,” Caron told Romy. She was supposed to be in class.

“Oui, oui, Madame- goodbye, American! Make me proud!” Romy said before abandoning him to his new course schedule.

“Follow me, Mister Lahey,” she led him into the front office she had been set on before Romy had interrupted. The word ‘mister’ seemed foreign to her. She said it almost scoffingly. As if it was so far beneath monsieur. “Here is the standard schedule for our internationals. You will be taking two periods of French, so there is no time for the optional classes. Your guardian, Christopher Argent, enrolled you so late that you may need to catch up some,” she handed him a manila sheet of paper with a schedule in French on one side and in English on the other. Isaac had been startled by the woman’s phrasing of his guardian Chris Argent. But he supposed it was true now.

“Thank you, Madame Caron,” Isaac said hastily after registering that the silence had lasted too long. He remembered vaguely going over polite etiquette in French class, but he didn't remember a lick of the details. And he wasn’t sure where the line between his cynical persona and being an actual asshole was. So, for now, he’d have to talk like, well, like Scott.

“Ah, and my I recommend you follow the path of an Argent besides Romy,” she called to him with a twitch of a smile.

“Good to know her reputation,” Isaac muttered, staring at the English side of his schedule.

Isaac entered the first class where a class of eight was gathered. They stopped and looked at him curiously before one girl managed to speak.

“Es-tu...ici pour quelque chose?” She spoke a little clumsily.

“It’s okay, I speak English,” he sighed.

“Oh! You’re joining the class,” she said, looking relieved. “Uh, I’m Kwyn. I’m here on the EF program. From Delaware,” she told him.

“Uh, California. Moved here with my… family,” he said awkwardly.

“Cali?” One of the boys perked up, his tie loose around his neck. “Suh dude,” he said in an obnoxious surfer imitation.

“Jesus Christ,” Isaac muttered, sitting gloomily in an empty desk. He wanted to mutter, ‘Americans’ but since, unlike Romy, he was one, it felt out of place.

“Ignore Brent. He’s a… how you say, l' bitte,” Kwyn said with a grin. “Means dick. Learned that one authentically. From native speakers.”

“Good for you,” Isaac told her.

“You’re a bit sour,” Kwyn told him.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Isaac said, voice trite with sarcasm. He felt his bitter, assholeish self taking over. Probably to cope, Dr. Gallagher would say. This was too many new people at once. Isaac was already stressed by the idea of - maybe - being friends with Romy and Jeanie. Throwing some Americans on the pile seemed like an unwelcome addition.

“Is-” Isaac did not hear what she was going to say as a man had entered the room.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Berger,” Kwyn said along with the same words muttered by her peers. The man was very short, balding, and seemingly delighted to be there.

“Good morning, class. Are we ready to continue with our universal language study?” The man, Mr. Berger, said it like they shared an inside joke. There were the scoffs of the students as if they had heard this one before. “You are the new student?” He said to Isaac, accent thick. “Do you know what the universal language is?”

“No,” Isaac said reluctantly.

“Maths!” Berger said delightedly. Isaac felt his hopes for the morning die. First class on the other side of the world. His old life dead. There would still be pre calculus.

“Ah,” Isaac nodded as he was still waiting for a reaction. “Math.”

“You’ll fit in well here, Monsieur…?” Berger asked just as Caron had.

“Lahey. Isaac Lahey,” he told him.

“Well, Isaac Lahey, welcome to Claude Monet,” the man told him and finally stopped paying attention to him. Isaac felt himself relax.

It seemed they were a week behind the curriculum Isaac had last remembered from Beacon Hills. It was a relief. He could just ignore everything around him for a few days. Well, as long as he didn't keep ignoring everything.

Isaac was fine until he got to his first French course of the day. One would be taught as their second language, the other would be sitting in on a class with actual students. There, Isaac had to actually pay attention.

Following the end of the class with actual French people in it, Isaac found himself heading towards the exit, other students jostling his shoulders, the sounds echoing off the unfamiliar and stupidly bourgeois entrance hall to the school. Isaac had made it about a third of the way across the campus lawn before someone shouted his name. Isaac cringed, fearing a staff member, instead he was greeted by Romy, Jeanie, Leo, David - god, it was like they were a pack. Were normal families this culty or just hunters? - and, bringing up the back with a pair Isaac had never seen, Max.

“Where you going, American?” Romy called. “You planning on eating alone?”

“What?” Isaac stopped, registering vaguely that Romy was not berating him for skipping, but for something else.

“Can you even find your way back to the house?” David scoffed.

“You eating back at the house or going out?” Romy ignored David and slung her arm around Isaac’s shoulder. She was standing on tiptoes to do that.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Isaac muttered.

“What times your next class?” Jeanie asked him.

Isaac scrambled for his schedule, all his thoughts of skipping scrambled by this turn of events. He also noted that a few minutes after leaving the school, it seemed half the student body had followed him. Some younger kids settling on the lawn with food while others heading out into the streets. Isaac was a bit confused.

“Next class is at one,” Isaac frowned, staring at his schedule properly for the first time that day. He had two hours of empty time ahead of him. French people took a lot of breaks.

“So, why’re you so… odd?” Jeanie said. “You’re acting like you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“No, I just…” Isaac was saved from replying by Max.

“We’re not going home,” he said somewhat smugly, his two friends nodding along, apparently neither of them spoke good english. “We’re going to Bennet’s.”

“Did your mum approve of that?” Leo leaned down, scruffing the shorter boy’s hair.

“Oui!” Max said sharply, before pulling his friends away, already babbling in French.

“Come on, I want to go home. Free food,” Romy said.

“If we get there to early we’ll have to help,” Leo warned.

“What, you guys take cooking shifts?” Isaac asked, still feeling the need to leave.

“Yeah, well, more like whoevers home is supposed to help,” Romy shrugged.

“How charmingly socialist,” Isaac said.

“You say that like it’s a dirty word,” Jeanie said. “You’ll change your mind when you need to go to the hospital,” she said a bit ominously.

“Free. Food.” Romy interrupted by pulling on Leo’s arm, whining all the while.

“Come on, then,” Leo rolled his eyes before proceeding on towards the Argent house. Isaac felt strangely comforted by the fact that the strawberry blond was his height. He felt less noticeable now.

“Does it ever get tiring for you all? Speaking in English whenever I’m around?” Isaac felt the need to voice his insecurities.

“Yes,” David said helpfully.

Romy jumped up and swatted him on the head. “No!” She insisted.

Isaac looked to Jeanie, hoping for a less biased opinion. “You should learn French as you are living in, well, France,” Jeanie said almost apologetically. Isaac nodded, having expected as much.

“Well we can just get over it until he learns!” Romy said firmly.

“Peut-être que tu peux…” David muttered.

“Say that again,” Isaac said sharply, trying to pass it off as a threat when really, he hadn’t been able to translate what he had said.

“Qui se fout de ce que pense ce colonisateur. Allez, Leo,” David ignored him and spoke to Leo.

“You call him a colonizer, we are French, you idiot!” Jeanie snapped.

“I, ah, see you later, then,” Leo said awkwardly before following David down the next street.

“He, uh, called me a colonizer?” Isaac snorted.

“Ironic, no?” Jeanie agreed. “You know, Indian werewolf population doubled in the first two decades after British invasion,” she told him. “Interesting how history overlaps no matter what world you live in.”

“Of course you would remember that,” Romy teased her.

“Food, then?” Isaac shifted the subject, realizing that, besides the whole language thing, these kids had a greater understanding of his world than he did.

“Yes, food,” Romy agreed.

“Isaac, what if we helped you to begin speaking in French?” Jeanie offered. “We could talk in French and explain when you need it.”

“It’d make for slow conversation,” Isaac said.

“I don’t mind translating,” Romy offered, holding the iron gate to the courtyard open.

“You guys don’t need to help me so much,” he said awkwardly.

“Do you want to know a secret, American?” Romy grinned. “I like you, I do, but what I really like is how annoyed David gets by us hanging out with you and not him. Leo, he’s soft, of course he’d follow Dave, but David had hoped we would follow too.”

“Yeah, he reminds me of someone,” Isaac laughed, a bitching Jackson coming to mind.

“I don’t know you well enough to like you, Isaac, but I agree. Anyone who annoys David is a friend of mine,” Jeanie nodded.

“Nice to know your family annoys you. I was starting to worry you guys really were a cult,” Isaac said.

“Oh, we most definitely are,” Romy smirked.

After that, Isaac returned to class. Feeling less alienated by his American peers and deciding that, perhaps, he shouldn’t make himself miserable.

Not to say that this mentality made him want to participate in everything, but other, more antagonistic things, did.

Well, they would. As the school day ended and Romy invited him to at least watch the “training session” of the day.

“It isn’t led by any of the graduates, but it’s good to just spar a few times a week,” Romy told him. “What boy doesn’t like fighting for the hell of it?”

“Your cousins have limited your perspective on men,” Isaac told her.

“Doubtful,” Romy said, heading for the basement, stopping only to steal a cheese platter from the dinner table. She offered some to him. He refused.

Isaac blocked the sounds from below ground. Fighting. As they entered the gym, a dozen or so kids ranging from Max’s age to early twenties were slung around the room. Circling a pair in the center. Bare feet sliding across matts and breathing more precise than the average human.

It was Leo. Across from him, Marie. She looked so small across from the taller boy that Isaac almost felt worried for her. But he knew Argent women too well.  
A sharp inhale pierced the chatter of the room, only heard by the wolf’s ear. It told him Leo would swing before he began. Marie, despite being unable to hear it, still predicted her cousin’s movement and sidestepped him and his left arm. Isaac registered, with mild horror, they both held small knives. The blade no more than a few inches long, but a blade nonetheless.

“Pathétique, petit garçon!” Marie jeered. Isaac could guess the first word - pathetic - and knew the rest to mean ‘little boy’.

“Tu veux parler, souris!” Leo replied, panting too much for Isaac to translate more than, ‘you want to talk’.

As he spoke though, Marie kicked out into his stomach sharply, sending Leo sprawling. Isaac winced sympathetically, but Romy laughed. Marie held her knife out, smirking, body slick with sweat, proving how long this conflict had gone on before Isaac and Romy had entered the room.

“Tu es le loup aujourd'hui, Léo!” Marie said as Leo got to his feet a little grumpily.

“Oui, oui, vous gagnez. Tu es le chasseur,” Léo said.

“I got most of it, but-?” Isaac started to ask.

“Marie said Leo was the wolf this round, and he agreed she was the hunter, since he lost. That’s how it goes, losers are wolves, winners are hunters,” Romy said with a little laugh. “Makes it fun, I guess.”

Isaac nodded, feeling nauseated by the evidence that everyone in this room wanted him on the ground. No matter who won or how, the wolf was weakened. 

“Ah, ne l'amène pas ici!” David called when he saw Romy and Isaac.

“I’ll bring whoever I like,” Romy moved like she was about to drag David onto the mat, laughing when he flinched.

“Is he just going to watch? Or does he plan on actually doing something?” David stood from where he was sitting and spoke in English, obviously directing it at Isaac.

“Depends on you,” Isaac said coolly. His response sent the chatter spiraling.

“Isaac, you uh, want to settle things on the mat with David?” Romy asked for clarification.

“I don’t care. We have a little American saying- talk shit, get hit,” Isaac said with a smirk. David didn't have to know Isaac had super strength. All that mattered was that Isaac was about to knock this asshole on his ass.

“Alright, American, let’s see if you can throw a punch,” David said.

“Only I call him American!” Romy snapped.

Romy’s presence reminded him of the fact that he hadn’t been able to land a blow on her. What, because David was a dick, Isaac could beat him? At this point the blood pounding in his ears had overtaken his logic.

“Well?” Isaac asked, hands balled into fists.

David seemed to size him up, a smirk awkward on his open mouth. Then, in a fit of drama, David pulled his shirt off and widened into a fighting stance. Isaac laughed openly.

“God, need to fix your masculinity before we start?” Isaac snorted.

Isaac wasn’t sure if David understood what he meant, as he hadn’t moved. Isaac rolled his eyes and moved to raise his fists but in his laxed ignorance, a fist slammed into his jaw.

“David!” Jeanie spoke sharply, believing her cousin had gone too far.

“Isaac,” Romy seemed more concerned, gearing to step forward.

“Don’t worry about it. Barely grazed me,” Isaac said, rubbing his chin bitterly. It was in a way true. He felt whatever minor bruising that might have appeared heal quickly.

Isaac moved forward, ramming his shoulder into David’s chest with somewhat unnatural speed. David stumbled back, barely managing to keep his footing. He looked shocked. Isaac had held back. If he hadn’t, David would be on the ground with a broken rib.

“How about we make this a proper fight,” David said. He seemed to resent that Isaac could take a punch. “Leo?” David turned to his friend, who had watched on anxiously.

“Quoi?” Leo said softly, seeming startled.

“Donne moi ton couteau,” David muttered in reply.

Isaac didn't recognize most of the words. Marie pressed the thin blade, still damp with sweat, into his hand. Isaac still got the message.

His heart was beating faster now, it was a fun irony as out of everyone in the room the knife could not hurt him.

“David,” Romy said sharply. “Ce n'est pas une bonne idée.”

“Isn’t a good idea? Isn’t that for him to decide?” David said.

“Come on, then,” Isaac said, knife held tightly in his hand.

David let out a light laugh, knife raised, the other arm in a defensive position. Isaac wouldn’t be the one to swing first. Not just because he had never fought with a knife before.

David was annoyed by Isaac’s lack of movement. He moved forward but Isaac somehow knew from the tension in his body that he wouldn’t finish the move. Isaac didn't flinch.

A lucky guess, or maybe wolf senses, but David stopped short, Isaac hadn’t even blinked. The exchange caused nervous laughter to ring across the room.

“Should we get out a ruler, boys?” Jeanie said sarcastically.

“Oh, I’m perfectly confident. Don’t know about him, though,” Isaac said quietly.

David flushed, taking offense like always, and tried to shove Isaac down with the same brute force tactic Isaac had used earlier. Isaac stepped to the left this time, causing David to stumble forward.

Isaac hadn’t expected him to recover so quickly, though. Or to come at him with a knife.

“Fuck,” Isaac hissed, hand going to cover the cut on his arm. It was thin and shallow, but blood was drawn nonetheless. Isaac’s heart was racing now. He could feel it healing underneath his palm. He couldn’t move his hand.

“A little blood scare you, American?” David mocked, but something flickered in his eyes. Suspicion.

“David,” Leo warned, seeming to think he’d crossed a line.

“Shut it, Leo,” David snarled, causing his friend to sulk. “Give up?”

“No,” Isaac spat, but his arm remained pressed into the clean, healed fleshed marred only by a few drops of blood. He thought fast.

Well, he didn't think, really.

Isaac, risking another ‘wound’, threw himself, still clinging to his own arm, forward. He threw David’s knife hand away from his body and barrelled him into the ground messily.

David stumbled to his feet before Isaac did, tiny blade held forward. The same act of victory Marie had held over Leo.

“I-I win. You’re the wolf,” he panted.

“It seems I am,” Isaac said slowly.

His hand still clung to his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

“You okay?” Romy reached out to take his hand and heaved him to his feet. “Is it bad…?” Romy looked at his arm uncertainly.

“No,” Isaac spoke too sharply. “It’s… it’s fine.” David still stared with that same suspicion in his eyes. “Just don’t like blood,” he tried to lie awkwardly.

“Do you know where the bandages are?” Leo asked, causing David to look at his friend in offense. “Vous l'avez coupé et il a besoin d'un bandage, c'est tout…” Leo muttered apologetically to David.

“He said that since David cut you, he’s offering a bandage, that’s all,” Romy translated. “Meaning Leo is a coward, afraid to have his own opinions.”  
Leo gave her a mutinous look.

“Where are they?” Isaac tried to make peace with Leo.

“Well, we have a… small hospital, on the second floor. If you need stitches,” David scoffed at this. “But if it isn’t that bad, we keep some stuff down here,” he pointed to the far left cabinet next to the wall of weaponry.

“Thanks, Leo,” Isaac said. Despite yes, seeming a bit cowardly when it came to David, Leo at least bothered to be helpful. The rest of the young Argents had moved on to other things, but those that - in a sense - knew him, still watched his strange behavior both curious and, with the exception of David, moderately concerned.  
Isaac opened the cabinet with one hand, pulling out a useless wad of gauze and a wrap of white linen.

“You’ll want to sanitize it,” Jeanie moved pull down a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the next shelf. She moved to hand it to him, looking unsure as Isaac’s free hand still held onto his arm.

Isaac lifted his ‘wounded’ arm and gestured for her to put the equally useless bottle underneath it.

“Isaac, are you going to take care of it or just carry that stuff around?” Romy asked him carefully.

Isaac was well aware that he looked utterly ridiculous with his stiff movements and apparent inability to disconnect from his own arm.

“I… I will, thanks,” at which point Isaac all but ran upstairs and into the nearby bathroom. “You’re fucking stupid, Lahey,” he muttered to himself.

He let out a sigh too old for his years and finally let go of his arm. As he had feared and known, his skin was smooth accept for a single, sweaty blot of blood. Isaac should not have taken the bait.

Isaac tore off a square of gauze, placed it over the counterfeit wound, and wrapped the bandages with an expertise that only comes with experience. Isaac had stopped blood from seeping through his sweatshirt with nothing but scotch tape and toilet paper at one point in his life.  
Regardless of his ease with haphazard medicine, Isaac had believed he would never have to wrap a bandage again. Once he was satisfied with his work, Isaac shoved the roll of bandages in his pocket for later, and hesitated. He intended to return the supplies, but that meant engaging with the group again.  
Isaac forced himself to the stairwell. There was still the general chatter from below as well as the clatter of something colliding together. The sharp draw sounded almost like Kira’s sword, but the tone was much deeper. Apparently the sound was swords, but their blade edges were boxed off into a square shape and the material was not metal. It looked plastic. The fighters looked to be younger. Max was shouting out instructions to his peers in French. One of the girls fighting turned to swing her sword at him in frustration.

“Gardez-le pour le tapis, les enfants!” Jeanie scolded.

“You okay?” Romy noticed him and the bandage now firm on his arm.

“Yeah. Fine,” Isaac tried to shrug her off.

“I, uh, get that it is not the best time, but, normal people don’t act like that when they get a cut,” Romy pushed.

“You say that like anyone in this house is normal,” Isaac diverted the question.

“Are all Americans so good at talking around a problem? I thought your people were supposed to be blunt,” Romy said.  
Isaac hated lying. He hated that he was afraid of his new friends, not just because of their capability to kill him, but that he feared the moment when they would see him as a monster.

“I, uh, I got a lot of issues. Injuries have a lot to do with them,” Isaac said awkwardly. It wasn’t a lie. Well, at least that’s what he told himself.

“Ah. More trauma than the dead girlfriend, then?” Romy teased, hoping to pull Isaac from his own shadow.

“A bit,” Isaac said.

“I’ll let you keep your secrets, American. Can’t say much for the rest of them, though,” Romy said, referring to her family. As Isaac followed her eye, he was met by another stare. David had not stopped looking at him.

“Lahey! Feel like I got you pretty deep, mind if I have a look? Or maybe someone upstairs,” David shouted across the room, confusing some of the other occupants.

“Shut up, cousin, you and I both know you should have lost,” Romy snapped.

“I was simply concerned. Poor boy has never been cut before,” David said, obviously patronizing him.

“Jean, let’s go,” Romy called to Jeanie.

“Grow up, cousin,” Jeanie said to David before following Romy upstairs, Isaac following.

“You did pretty well for your first go of it, Isaac,” Jeanie told him as they entered the courtyard.

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t’ve agreed to fight in the first place,” Isaac said. “God, Chris would be pissed…”

“Uncle Chris? The Argent? Would be pissed at you for fighting, with Argents?” Romy said.

It wasn’t like Isaac could explain that Chris would be angry with him for endangering himself with his secret, so he simply shrugged.

“I have to ask, I am curious by nature,” Jeanie began and Isaac immediately knew what was coming. “Why did that cut cause you so much trouble?” She asked carefully. “You don’t have to answer,” she supplied helpfully.

“He does not have a good history with wounds,” Romy answered on his behalf.

“Ah. None of my business,” Jeanie was quick to back off; to which Isaac was grateful.

Isaac had not been paying attention, and registered now that they had entered what served as a family common room. Couches were slung in different circles, a TV showed a news station on one corner, and bookshelves lined one wall. The way they came from had windows facing the archways into the courtyard.  
It was a familial space and Isaac did not think he belonged with them, even as the girls settled into a sofa without comment to his place in this.

“Grand-mère,” Jeanie got up and approached an older woman who’s hand was deep in her pocket, muttering to herself. “Vous connaissez les règles, pas d'armes à feu pour vous.” Jeanie held her hand out. The grandmother looked murderous.

“Montrer du respect. Je suis ton aîné, tu ne peux pas me dire quoi faire!” The woman snapped. She looked ill. She was sat in a wheelchair and her skin was palid and her body thin. Isaac was surprised she could spit so much fire when she really didn't look like she should be alive.  
Romy looked ready to stand.

“Dois-je avoir votre fille?” Jeanie said firmly.

“Ma fille! En me commandant, en agissant comme si elle était responsable ici ... je suis responsable Elle n'a pas le droit. Laissez des étrangers dans notre maison …” The woman seemed to rave, gathering looks of worry from the other retirees sitting nearby. Isaac suddenly registered she was staring at him accusingly.

“What’s she saying?” Isaac asked Romy.

“Er. She is not happy with her daughter, Valerie, and doesn’t think you should be here. Thinks she should still be in charge,” Romy said quietly. “This happens sometimes. She probably stole a knife from the dinner table. Always trying to stay armed…”

“Valerie’s mother?” Isaac asked.

Romy nodded. “Not doing well. She has a… a sickness in the mind.”

“Grand-mère!” Jeanie said sharply, holding her hand out.

“Fille stupide!” The woman snapped. She finally relinquished what she had hidden in her pocket. Isaac felt his blood run cold. The deranged old woman had a gun.

“Grand-mère, Où est-ce que tu as eu çà?” Jeanie sighed, she actually didn't seem concerned. That is, until she opened the chamber and three bullets fell out. “Où est-ce que tu as eu çà?!” She repeated sharply.

“Oh, that’s bad,” Romy said quietly. “She… I can see how she got the gun, but we keep the bullets locked away.”

“Ah, I will be right back, Romy, I’m going to go talk to Aunt Valerie,” Jeanie hurried away.

Those around her began to inquire nervously to the old Argent, but she was having none of it. She pointed a shaking finger at Isaac as her peers tried to hush her.

“Grandmother Albertine is not well. There’s a reason the sisters voted to have her step down,” Romy told him. “I think we should leave. Best not to have you disembowelled by an old woman with a spoon.” They were quick to leave, Romy continuing to explain as they entered the courtyard. “My mother and Aunt Valerie are a bit young to be Sisters, let alone in charge. It is because my grandmother past away and well, Grandma Alby went a bit mad. She,” Romy looked terribly embarrassed. “She tried to shoot a postman. And the Sisters decided that was the final straw. The man wasn’t even a wolf! We checked.”  
The absurdity of it might be funny, but Isaac could only be horrified as the woman had just had a loaded gun in her pocket.  
“This house is, uh, a little dangerous, you know that, right?” Isaac said, voice quieter than usual.

“Ah, so is the world,” Romy shrugged.

Morning came. So did a prickling feeling on Isaac’s neck telling him he was being watched. By David and his clan. Well, clan. More like Leo and a group of younger boys who could be bullied into idolizing him. Isaac did what he did best. Avoided them for the majority of the day. David seemed to find this terribly inconvenient.   
David, acting like a toddler, eventually grabbed onto Isaac’s bandaged arm as they walked home for lunch. Isaac managed to register the implications and let out an indignant “Ow!” before the others noticed how unphased he was despite the apparent injury.

“David,” Jeanie said sharply just as Romy swung a fist at her cousin’s arm without any apparent mercy.

“Romy que se passe-t-il?” David snapped at Romy, growing red in the face as he rubbed his arm.

“You ask me what the hell, why did you do that?!” Romy snarled.

“It’s fine,” Isaac said to quietly for anyone to hear.

“Quelque-Quelque chose ne va pas avec lui!” David clambered to defend himself.

“English, asshole,” Romy said, fist still far too curled for David’s comfort.

“There’s something wrong with him,” David hissed. “He does not make sense. If that cut was bad, why not have someone check it? If it was not, why act so afraid? He is hiding something.”

“You’re being stupid, David,” Jeanie scolded.

“Oh yeah?” David was still deeply flustered for being called out on his actions. “Haven’t you all wondered why he hides it? Leo?” He turned to his only friend for support.

“Ah, I don’t know, David, I mean, it is odd, but…” Leo seemed utterly noncommittal in his nervousness.

David cursed him in French and returned to his opposition. “You both defend him blindly.”

“We do not,” Jeanie rolled her eyes. “We just don’t tolerate your idiocy.”

“Why, uh, why don’t we just have him, have Isaac, show us? David, that’ll be enough, right?” Leo offered. “It’ll get David off his back,” he told the girls, looking eager for diplomacy.

Everyone seemed to relax slightly at the compromise. Everyone except for Isaac.

“It is not ideal, but, would you just show him so he will stop?” Jeanie turned to Isaac.

“I, uh,” Isaac stammered.

“Come on, American, let’s get rid of this, this,” Romy said something in French that Isaac did not recognize but it was vulgar enough to make Jeanie cringe.

Now they were all staring at him expectantly. Specifically, at his arm.

“I don’t think I…” Isaac’s hand went to cover the bandage. David moved forward impatiently to pull it away, Romy moving to stop him, and all the while Isaac was thinking a mile a minute. “Don’t touch me.” He snapped, causing David to almost flinch back.

Isaac had a moment to find some words. “I… My dad really fucked me up, okay?” Isaac eventually came to that. Damnit. He had hoped not to have all of his new friends see him through his trauma victim filter. “He, uh, he broke glass a lot. It would cut me and… and my dad would… dig it out.” Isaac wasn’t lying. Not really. Isaac’s hands had been shredded from picking up the pieces of a shattered glass and his father had torn the pieces from his hands heartlessly. Although it hadn’t happened frequently. It wasn’t a trigger for him, but it was a convenient lie. “I don’t want anyone near my cuts, okay?”

“Bullshit,” David muttered.

Isaac snapped. He slammed his hands into David’s chest, knocking him onto the ground, head hanging off into the sidewalk of Paris rather than the safety of the school green. Other pedestrians stopped and stared. Leo, looking shocked, scrambled to help David to his feet.

“You dense motherfucker!” Isaac shouted at him, no longer caring who heard. “You don’t get to see shit! You don’t get proof from me, you don’t get to see my fucking arm, you’re gonna shut up and stay the hell away from me!”

“You are fucked in the head,” David said bitterly, pressing into his scraped elbows. They were bleeding.

“Of course I am, you dick! My dad beat the shit out of me!” Isaac moved with the intent of throwing a punch, ironically enough, but Romy held him back.

“Allons,” Leo muttered, pulling on David’s arm towards the street away from the Argent house.

David stared back, opening his mouth as if to retort but he somehow seemed to think better of it.

“Fucking asshole,” Isaac muttered, blood pounding in his ears. Isaac was convinced the only thing that stopped him from turning was the usual fear of rejection if his friends ever found out. Fear was, as he knew, a great suppressor.

“God, Isaac,” Romy looked jarred.

“I know, I shouldn’t’ve pushed him,” Isaac said grudgingly.

“Nah, he deserved it, but…” Romy looked at him. God, that look. He was waiting for that moment of utter pity. “That sucks.”

“Romy. You have no sense,” Jeanie scolded her awkward response.

Isaac was laughing. He had felt his heart sink when Romy had turned to pity, but her awkwardness had fixed it immediately. “That was the best answer I could’ve gotten from you.”

Romy was bright red, “I, uh, I am not good at feelings out of nowhere. Our first heart to heart was practiced.”

“Just… don’t end up treating me like some sad little boy,” Isaac said. “Otherwise I’ll have to murder David and make you guys hate me instead.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month. Oops. But we're back into what this was about! Getting our depressed kid some fucking therapy~

“You don’t need to get me a cab, I can walk,” Isaac told Argent somewhat reluctantly.

“Alone. In Paris?” Chris said. “You’ll get mugged.”

“I am more competent than a tourist,”Isaac said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Not to mention, the thought of someone trying to mug him now was nothing short of entertaining.

“Alright. You have your phone,” Argent gave up far more easily than Ms. McCall would have.

“This guy speaks English, so. Once I find him I’ll be functional,” Isaac told him. “And… I can talk to people. Maybe,” Isaac frowned, as if trying to convince himself.

“Good… good luck Isaac,” Argent spoke with his usual awkwardness. He did not know Isaac and Isaac didn't know him. Not really.

Isaac exited the courtyard of the Argents and headed down the street at a quick pace.

Melissa had driven him to his first therapy session. She had offered to stay with him and she and Scott had been in the waiting room when he had finished.

Now, he walked through a foreign city to meet a stranger alone.

Isaac didn't blame Argent. He hadn’t expected him to. He just couldn’t resist feeling gloomy at the thought.

“Hé, regarde le!” A man snapped as Isaac carelessly crashed shoulders with him on the crowded sidewalk.

Isaac ignored him. Too focused on street signs. It was seven blocks. Four down, three to the left. Easy.

Isaac eventually stopped, having the common sense to step off the sidewalk and into the narrow stoop of an office building. There, he spent far too long reading and rereading the list of occupants on the door. Some were other psychologists, it seemed from the doctorates attached to their names, others were more obscure. He recognized the word ‘financement’ to mean financing for example. Eventually, he found the slot labelled “Docteur Batt 5ème étage” among several other names referencing the occupants of that floor as well.

He entered the building which, for lack of a better descriptor, smelled new. Vaguely of paint and new carpeting. Isaac approached the elevator, feeling a flicker of annoyance that a stairwell, a far less trapping option, was not obviously available. Rather than bother to look for it, Isaac called the elevator. Isaac was equally annoyed by the mirrors surrounding the elevator. He did not need to be reminded of the bags under his eyes and the moderate anxiety which hadn’t left his eyes in far too long. Grief articulated itself in a variation of suffering.

Isaac was unpleasantly surprised to find a secretary on this floor. Who he feared did not speak English.

“Ah, allô, je suis... ici pour rencontrer... le docteur Bhatt?” Isaac said awkwardly.

“Oui, il est dans la chambre quatorze. Je vais lui faire signe,” she nodded and moved to the phone.

“No,” Isaac said instinctively. He had spoke very loudly. Isaac cringed. She looked puzzled, “er, non, je peux juste y aller à pied,” Isaac said.

“Très bien,” she said a little disgruntled by Isaac accidentally shouting at her.

Isaac, a little pink, hurried down the hall away from her, bothering at the last second to check the room number. He had walked past it. Isaac prayed he hadn’t noticed before turning back. The door was open and the room Isaac entered was incredibly narrow. It extended backwards for the length of five yards, but it was only about six feet wide. At the end of it, was a large window covering the narrow length of wall which faced outside the building. The view was the roof of a neighboring building, but beyond that was some of the Paris skyline.

“Hello, Isaac,” he had been too distracted by the odd office and caught up in his own head to notice the man sitting at the desk. “You are Isaac, right?” He said after Isaac didn't respond at first.

“Yeah, you’re Doctor Bhatt?” Isaac said slowly.

“Yes. I had to check. Would have been strange to start spewing English to anyone else,” he said with a small laugh. His accent was oddly garbled to Isaac. Bhatt was perfectly understandable, but his accent was Indian with a French tone, but his English words often came with a British hint. A linguistic scramble.

“Want to have a seat?” Bhatt gestured to a long, narrow sofa crammed in across from his desk.

Isaac obliged. He had been through this before, but it wasn’t like he could immediately spew his traumas and get back to normal.

“I do have all the records from your previous doctor, doctor Gallagher, but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear some answers from you,” Doctor Bhatt said. He was more emotive than Gallagher, who had always done her best to remain steadfast and calm.

“Okay,” Isaac remembered to respond after a moment.

“Why did you decide to come to, or rather continue, counseling?” Dr. Bhatt asked.

“God, where do I start?” Isaac said. It was strange. He had behaved so coldly to dodge Gallagher’s questions so long ago, now it was because genuinely, he didn't know. What fucked him up more, the dead girlfriend or the abusive father?

“Wherevers easiest,” Bhatt said simply. That didn't help Isaac come up with an answer. “There’ll be plenty of time to go over the details, Isaac. Just think of an answer.”

“I need counseling because of my dad. He fucked up my childhood,” Isaac eventually began. “But that’s not the point. The reason I’m here, in France, seeing you, is because… just over a month ago, a girl I really loved died.” Isaac felt his breath get caught in his throat.

“What was her name?” Dr. Bhatt asked, quieter now.

“Allison,” his voice broke simply uttering the name aloud.

“Do you want to talk about her, Isaac?” Dr. Bhatt gave him a choice.

“God, no,” Isaac told him.

“That’s okay. You can talk about anything you want. Not forever, but we can ease into this, Isaac. What’s Paris like for you?” Dr. Bhatt asked.

“I haven’t seen much of it,” Isaac was grateful for the space the man allowed him. “I… I think I have friends. New ones. Which is strange, because I miss my old ones so much,” Isaac admitted. “I… I keep on trying to explain why I left. But… it’s more of a gut feeling than anything. I miss them so badly but it’s like some part of me refuses to go back to that town.”

“You know, instinct is a very real thing. You have to trust that feeling as, most of the time, it is right. There’s a reason, even if you can’t quantify it, that you felt you must leave,” Dr. Bhatt reasoned.

“Werewolf powers, right?” Isaac scoffed. “Was a coward as a human and as an animal,” Isaac said.

“Well that’s a terrible mentality,” Dr. Bhatt said immediately. Isaac hesitated. He was thrown by his therapist openly rebuking him. Gallagher always tried to navigate around it so he would acknowledge he was wrong. Bhatt went straight to the point. “Why do you think you’re a coward? From Dr. Gallagher’s notes you seem awfully self sacrificing.”

“Yeah, sure, I don’t care if I die, but that doesn’t make me a hero,” Isaac said bitterly.

“What has made you reduce your self worth? You try and help people, Isaac. Why can’t you be happy with that?” Dr. Bhatt said.

“I don’t know. It’s just how I’ve always thought, I guess. Habits are hard to break,” Isaac frowned.

“A fair assessment. But you’ve come to me for help. You know there’s a problem. So I know you’re able to start working towards self improvement,” Dr. Bhatt told him. “What are you good at, Isaac?”

“Shouldn’t we stick to the point?” Isaac diverted the question.

“And what might that be?” Dr. Bhatt rebuked.

“I guess there’s too much shit for me to figure that out,” Isaac said.

“So let’s stick to what you can figure out,” Dr. Bhatt refocused. “What are you good at?”

Isaac frowned. Genuinely stumped. He couldn’t even fumble together a personality, let alone a skill that was worth anything.

“Isaac?” Bhatt pushed.

“I don’t fucking know, okay?!” Isaac burst out.

“It’s okay. It’s session one for us,” Dr. Bhatt spoke so softly. Soothing Isaac with his tone as much as with his words. It was hard for Isaac to confront anything right now, even when allowed space from the real problems. Like Allison. “You don’t need to be sure of anything as long as you’re trying. So please, Isaac before our next session think of one thing, just one, that you’re good at.”

“Fine,” Isaac sighed. “I will figure that out on top of all the other basic things I have to do to function.”

“Alright. We still have time. What do you ‘have to do to function’? Tell me this and I will help you decide how pressing it is,” Dr. Bhatt said.

“I’m constantly lying,” Isaac said. He hadn’t directly realized how much this factor of his existence had weighed him until now. “It’s exhausting.”

“Lying? About what?”

“What do you think? About… about what I am,” Isaac told him.

“Yes, but surely you did that before,” Dr. Bhatt reasoned. “You have loved ones who know.”

“Allison’s dad, did you… what do you know?” Isaac wasn’t sure what he needed to tell him.

“Not much. The last note I have from your last doctor was that you were coming to france to stay with Allison’s father and their family. And I haven’t combed over her notes. I want to connect with you, not with a preconceived notion of you,” Dr. Bhatt told him.

Isaac nodded, feeling respect taking shape for this stranger. “I came here with him. It was my only way out of town. He isn’t a cuddly type of guy. And he definitely doesn’t know how to parent someone else’s kid.” Isaac felt so frustrated. “I just wish I could talk to her. She knew what it was like to be his daughter. I don’t even know how to talk to him.”

“Do you feel safe around him?” Dr. Bhatt asked.

“Chris?” Isaac had to ask. “He’s the least of my worries. So, yeah. We’ve been through enough that I can trust him, Even if I probably couldn’t take him in a fight. He’s all I have from home and he… I think he understands. What it’s like to lose her.” Bhatt gave him room to continue. “But… I don’t want to be near him. All he does is remind me of home. He links me to everything I tried to leave.”

“Isaac, do you think you could be happy here?” Dr. Bhatt told him. “Because if not, there is no shame in going back. You need to do what’s best for you.”

“No,” Isaac knew immediately. Whatever conviction had led him this far was still there. The thought of going back to Beacon Hills made his stomach turn. He just still wasn’t sure why.

“I just want you to know you aren’t trapped,” Dr. Bhatt told him. “Still, you haven’t answered. Are you happy here? Can you be? Or do you not know? All of those answers are okay.”

“I…” Isaac stopped. ‘I don’t know’ was a perfectly reasonable answer. But he feared this sense of defeat. “Maybe. Depends on… on a lot of different things.”

“That’s fine, Isaac. You’re young. You just have to take care of yourself right now. Nothing more,” Dr. Bhatt told him.

Isaac considered his apparent inability to get out of bed without nagging from someone else. “Don’t know how good I am at that either.”

“What are you struggling with?” Dr. Bhatt asked. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” God, Isaac felt pathetic. Not only was he incapable of functioning, but he wasn’t even able to tell one of the few people who might actually be able to help him.

Bhatt gave him time to think, but after an amount of silence passed which left Isaac uneasy, he spoke. “Grief is exhausting. As is trauma. Your capability to even be here is a testament to your strength. So if… if it has become difficult, know that you are only human.” Isaac looked at him and Bhatt had gave off a laugh. “Even werewolves get tired.”

“Fine,” Isaac forced himself to speak. “Getting out of bed, leaving my room, doing anything besides sleeping or just eating, when I bother to, it’s… it’s so hard,” Isaac felt himself grow emotional. The fact of the matter was he had afraid of his condition. It felt like he was slowly killing himself. Worse, sometimes that didn't seem like a bad thing.

“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”

“Symptoms?”

“Well, yes. These are symptoms. I will not throw a diagnosis at you, we’ve only just begun, but know that these are the reflections of a problem which is not your fault. Whether it is sickness or grief or both, I would like to figure out,” Dr. Bhatt explained.

“I… before what happened. When I was just, I don’t know, traumatized? I could function. Felt like I had to. I had people who were counting on me. But after she… after that all that was gone. I guess I’ve never really functioned on my own. If it wasn’t Scott, it was someone else checking on me,” Isaac said.

“No one exists completely independently, Isaac. If we did, why would any of us get out of bed in the morning?” Dr. Bhatt told him. “Your recent lapse makes sense considering how much you have lost so recently. Our focus is how to get you back on track. Do you think you could go to Chris about this?”

Isaac shifted uncomfortably. “I’d prefer not to.”

“Alright, I won’t push, is there anyone else?” He asked.

“No,” Isaac said at first. “Well… I think I might’ve made some friends. Other members of the family. Romy, she got me out of my last haze. Got Chris to enroll me in school.”

“Good,” Dr. Bhatt encouraged him. “See? You aren’t isolating. Are you going to school?”

“Yeah, but that’s besides the point. I shouldn’t have some random girl have to remind me to take a shower,” Isaac insisted. “That’s the whole problem.

“Does it help you?”

“I mean, I guess it did,” Isaac said reluctantly.

“Is it hurting her, Romy?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Then what’s the harm in having someone help you every once in a while?” Dr. Bhatt reasoned. “It doesn’t mean you will end up being dependent on her. As long as you keep trying yourself.”

“I… I just don’t know how,” Isaac said. “It doesn’t even make sense because I know how to take care of myself it just feels so impossible.”

“It’s the motivation which escapes you, yes?” Dr. Bhatt asked. Isaac nodded. “You don’t need some charming will to survive to get out of bed. Sometimes it’s just knowing that breakfast is waiting. Or a friendly face. And when worst comes to worst, just try and think: fuck it. Taking a shower, putting on clean clothes, eating, just give it a shot because I guarantee it’ll make you feel better.”

“It sounds easy when you say it like that,” he grumbled.

“It isn’t.”

“Great.”

“But that’s what this is about. Learning to not make the world easy, but to figure out how to deal with it. And whether it is Chris or Romy or whoever else, let someone help you until you get better. Because you are sick, Isaac. Not with some cold or flu, which you are… special enough to never have to worry about again.” A smile twitched to Isaac’s lips at this. “But your mind has grown overwhelmed. You just… have to rebuild your immunity to life.”


	9. Chapter 9

“American!” Romy shouted at him the moment he appeared through the courtyard gate following the session.

“What?” Isaac said, a little overwhelmed when Romy threw her arm around his far too tall shoulders.

“Where have you been? You almost missed the action!” Romy told him. There was a certain hum in the air.

“No. Absolutely not,” one of the graduates, a boy he didn't know, shook his head. Isaac stared at the gun in his right hand. “We are not bringing an untrained stranger.” He told Romy. “Sorry,” he said to Isaac with little actual meaning.

“Where?” Isaac asked, voice soft as it was whenever he became unsure.

“A strange man running on all fours in the road was spotted in Melun,” Romy said with a somewhat disconcerting joy.

“We’re heading out just for that?” Isaac said.

“No one’s been found dead, almost definitely a werewolf, a perfect run for students!” Romy told him. “Well, there have been some unusual muggings, a string of muggings, actually, witnesses claiming they saw teeth, but no gorey bodies which is good.”

“Except he shouldn’t be going!” The young man from before called again.

“Tante Val!” Much to Isaac’s chagrin, Romy went running after Valerie. “Isaac ne peut-il pas venir? S'il vous plaît?” Romy said in a whiny voice that told Isaac quite clearly that his friend was begging for his attendance.

Valerie, who evidently was not coming on the hunt, gave him a once over. “Ask Chris, Isaac. But if you do go, use common sense,” Valerie told him quite clearly in her cool tone that it was his risk to make. His secret.

“Perfect! Uncle Chris went hunting with you before, surely he will let you go!” Romy said. Isaac had yet to respond. “Even Marie is leading the hunt, and she doesn’t like the trips out! You do want to, yes?” She hesitated.

So did Isaac. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to - or even wanted to - reenter that world. One where there would be blood. And risk and coming face to face with a creature whose eyes would either reflect his own or that of those he had left behind.

But Isaac was bored. He was restless and eager to feel some sort of power like he had so many moons ago.

“Chris,” Isaac heard himself speak before his mind had reached a decision. “I’m going hunting.”

“You’re a teenager, you’re supposed to be reckless, but I’d call this borderline suicidal,” Chris shut his bedroom door behind them. Upon hearing Isaac’s declaration he had asked to speak with him. Privately.

“It’s my secret and it’s my problem. I know the risks,” Isaac said firmly.

“It isn’t your problem, because it falls to other people to protect you if this gets out!” Chris couldn’t help but half shout at Isaac, causing him to flinch, his heart beating unnaturally fast.

“I can’t keep doing nothing,” Isaac said quietly. “And I’m asking you out of courtesy. I don’t need your permission. Not even to screw up.”

“You’re sixteen. You’re my responsibility for the next two years,” Chris told him.

“You let your daughter hunt. You let her go into danger and you let her come with us that night,” Isaac’s voice sounded so unlike his own. Harsher. Unyielding.

Argent had turned white and for a moment Isaac was utterly convinced that he was going to hit him.

“Get out. Do what you want,” Argent said.

Isaac left without another word. His whole body wracked with tension that left him shaking.

“Alright?” Romy looked nervous at the sight of him.

“Never better,” Isaac told her. “Can I have a gun?”

“Slow down there,” that same boy was back. Well, man technically. He was probably twenty.

“Who might you be?” Isaac snapped.

“Simon,” he smirked, eyeing Isaac lightly with humor. “And I know who you are.”

“Someone without a gun, apparently,” Isaac said.

“Have you ever fired a gun, Isaac?” Simon said. Isaac was unsettled by this stranger saying his name. He was also unsettled by his startling blue eyes and sharp jaw. Too handsome. And vaguely like Derek in stature. Except for the eyebrows. No one had Derek’s eyebrows.

“No,” Isaac eventually answered.

“Best not to, then,” Simon then handed Isaac… well. It wasn’t a baseball bat. More like a wooden club. It’s handle was wrapped in fabric and the head of it had sharp grooves much like Romy’s knuckles which Isaac now noticed she wore.

The club had a rather burning scent coming from it.

“Wolfsbane polished bat. Should you need to defend yourself,” Simon said, that smirk never leaving his face.

Isaac was careful only to touch the handle.

“Good night for it too. Full moon is next week,” Romy told him.

Isaac felt a jolt of surprise. It was close. It would be his first moon without a pack.

“Yeah. Good night for it,” Isaac repeated.

“Come on. You’re riding with me,” Romy tugged him towards the house.

“Where-?” Isaac asked, as Romy tugged him back through the house towards the back of the building, there, through a backdoor, was a garage lined up for five cars. Sleek, black vehicles were next to bulky - possibly armored - vans. Romy pulled him into a seat next to her, one of the graduate hunters, Simon, taking the driver’s seat.

“Don’t screw this up and don’t get anyone killed,” Simon told him.

“God, I probably have more experience than half the kids here,” Isaac rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” Simon scoffed.

“This is an hour drive, please don’t spend the whole time measuring your dicks,” Romy interrupted.

Simon muttered something under his breath and pulled out into Paris traffic. The other van followed.

“I brought snacks,” Romy rummaged in her backpack and pulled out a bag of chips and a bag of chocolates.

“Is this just a roadtrip to you?” Isaac asked.

“Until we get there, yes,” Romy said. Simon sighed and turned on the radio to drown them out.

“Ignore the pouty old man. He graduated seven months ago and hasn’t gotten over the stick up his ass,” Romy teased.

“Vous êtes un chien agaçant, vous savez?” Simon snapped.

Romy stuck her tongue out at him.

“When we get there, how do we find the guy?” Isaac changed the subject.

“We go from the sighting, look for tracks, or for abandoned buildings in the area. That, or cheap motels. Or we’ll use the sonic emitters and try and spook em out,” Romy told him.

“If it’s a pack, if there’s more than one, we just take recon, got it?” Simon interjected.

“I thought you were ignoring us,” Romy said.

“I just don’t want this boy to go swinging bats at alphas,” Simon said.

“How many alphas have you fought then, Simon?” Isaac leaned forward.

“Two,” Simon said smugly. “At once.”

“That’s goddamn adorable,” Isaac said. “You ever heard of deucalion?” Simon’s eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. “His little pack. Of alphas. That was a fun night. Fought his freaky fucking twins multiple times. At once,” Isaac said sarcastically.

The ride was quiet after that.

“Wake up, American,” Romy shook his shoulder and Isaac jolted awake, the side of his face cool from being pressed into the glass. “We’re ten minutes out.”

“From where?” Isaac asked groggily.

“The road he was on, silly,” Romy said.

“Oh,” Isaac stumbled up, remembering to grab the bat at the last second, careful to stick to the handle. Even then, he felt a strange itch grow on his hand just from being so close to the poison. He would manage.

“Do you know how to look for tracks?” Romy asked him.

“Um,” Isaac thought back on that night in the woods. Argent’s critique at he and Scott trampling over footprints. “Not really.”

“Stick close to me, American,” Romy told him.

Isaac was not used to people assuming he could not take care of himself. It was… different to the faith his old friends had once had in him.

“Don’t believe I fought off a pair of alphas?” Isaac muttered, wringing his hands around the handle of the bat.

“Of course I do. More so when I see it,” Romy told him.

Isaac laughed dryly. “Fair enough.”

The road ahead was dark, trees lining its side. It led into a town a hundred yards away, lights glowing from the neighborhood. Isaac could see easily through the gloom. His allies could not. A series of short clicks led to light illuminating the trees as flashlights came to life. The hunters remained mostly quiet, only occasionally joking and laughing. An energy was in the air. The young hungry to prove themselves.

Someone muttered something in French and the lights turned to the ground. Footprints. And handprints. Someone had been running on all fours. Isaac understood the strange instincts and animalistic state when he transformed, running on all fours had not been one of them.

“Il a déménagé là-bas. À travers le côté. Où est-il logé? Pas dans les bois, sûrement,” Simon muttered to his cohorts. 

“Went that way,” Romy told Isaac, pointing down the ditch on the side of the road. “But we doubt he is living in the woods. He must have a home, even an abandoned building.”

“Don’t think werewolves have dens?” Isaac asked sarcastically.

“Do not play dumb, American. Someone might actually believe you,” Romy’s face twitched into a smile.

Isaac took a deep breath. He felt a strange chill run over his skin. He had not smelled another wolf since home. Not even a full moon yet and it seemed so long ago. He smelled… foreign. Not very clean either. Like sweat and something else he was too far to identify.

“La route,” someone spoke softly ahead and it was passed down the line.

“Found a road,” Romy told him. There was a soft rustling as lights went out and they followed one shadow after another towards a dirt road winding to the left, back into the woods. They stopped just off the main road. A single pair, perhaps visible to only Isaac, moved out into the darkness. “Scouts first. Then us. Five minutes on the clock. No report, we go in hot.”

“Go in hot?” Isaac said, smirking.

“I like American tv, okay?” Romy bit back.

“Soyez silencieux!” Someone snapped down the line. Quiet was the obvious message.

Isaac’s body felt tense, crouching along the side of the dirt road with a series of hunters. It had to have been five minutes, hadn’t it?

“Va dans.” Those two words were muttered down the line until eventually Romy whispered in his ear: “go in.”

Isaac felt oddly nervous now. Perhaps it was the tension that now followed the line instead of adrenaline. The lack of contact was not a good sign.

“Une ligne reste en arrière. Attends deux minutes,” Marie, the leader of the hunt, gave an order.

“We stay. Wait two minutes,” Romy held him back as half the line moved forward.

Isaac shifted his feet, agitated now. Part of him was disgruntled as he knew he would fare far better against a wolf than these students. The other part knew any show of that kind of strength would get him killed. The other four that remained behind with him and Romy also rustled. The boy next to Romy clutched his gun like a safety net. Isaac recognized him even in the dark. Leo. David had left him with the first group.

A distant shout came from down the road followed by bangs and flashes of light. Without an uttered command all six took off running towards the house. Their boots finding traction on the turf far better than his worn pair. Isaac hissed as the motion of his arms let the wood of the bat brush against his hand. No more than a bee sting which was quickly drowned out by fear. Ahead was the shadow of a building. The walls smelled of rot and one of the stairs broke under a hunter’s foot. They pushed on into the house.

Isaac should not have returned to a battle ground.

A single wolf had been sighted, but six were now in his line of sight. Isaac knew they outnumbered the wolves three to one, but he did not feel better.

As he entered, he smelled the entire pack. Sweat and dirt. The other scent… fear as well as anger. A primal defensive instinct.

Four women, two men. While their teeth shone against the flashlights of the hunters, they seemed far more focused on avoiding the occasional bullet.

“Ne tirez pas sauf si vous devez le faire! Vous pouvez tirer sur l'un de nous!” Marie shouted, her voice rough and out of breath. Her bow remained strapped to her back, instead a pair of daggers spun through her hands like silk.

“What did she-?” Isaac turned to Romy, but she had disappeared into the chaos. Isaac’s eyes spotted her in a flash of light from someone’s gun and from the glint of her knuckles Isaac knew the man in front of her was going down.

Isaac let out a gasp of surprise as a wolf shoved him aside, before pausing. Had she been a real wolf, her hackles would have been raised. She turned to him, eyes glowing blue, a color which immediately left Isaac no longer questioning their innocence. She had killed someone. And Isaac doubted it was quite like Derek’s situation. Before he had time to act the woman leapt onto his chest and Isaac felt his breath leave his chest and the bat roll away from him. He was not used to needing a weapon.

“Êtes-vous perdu, petit loup?” The woman snarled, her teeth bared far too close to his neck.

“Don’t know what you’re saying, don’t care,” Isaac’s voice came out a wheeze as the woman pressed further into his chest, her claws digging enough that he could feel skin begin to tear.

“American? You must be lost,” she said. “What are you, a pack traitor?” A hatred lurked in her eyes towards him far worse than towards a mere hunter.

“Get-Get off of me!” Isaac’s hands scrambled for his bat, hunter and wolf feet circled the pair, caught in their own fights.

“What, did they declaw you as well?” She laughed, a clawed hand moved towards his throat.

It was dark. Who would see?

Claws coming free after so long holding back was a relief. One this woman wasn’t expecting. His claws tore into her face and with a yowl she stumbled back. Isaac grabbed his bat, adrenaline allowing him to ignore the burn on his palm as he swung the bat at her head. It made contact right in time for a smaller wolf to jump on his back. He was a teenager. Younger than him. Fourteen, maybe.

“Vous ne faites pas partie du peloton!” The kid snarled, his claws clumsily sinking into Isaac’s shoulders.

“Get off you fucking rat!” Isaac flipped the kid over his shoulder but did not strike with his bat, he was just a kid.

But he did watch. The kid scrambled away, flinching from the occasional gunshot. He headed for a cellar. A trap door in the dirt floor. Isaac followed. If reinforcements were coming the least he could do was warn the others, especially as they were managing to gain control of the pack. The boy slid down the hole, Isaac moved to lift it only to feel many hands resisting.

“Oncle! Ils arrivent!” A voice far too young and high to be anyone other than a child made Isaac stop. He felt a strange shame overtake him at the sound. There were kids. They broke into their home.

“Romy!” Isaac dove forward, pulling her fist back, she looked almost appalled.

“Qu'est-ce que putain tu fous?!” Romy shouted at him. There was blood on her knuckles.

“There are fucking kids, Romy!” He pulled her back.

“What-?”

“How do we stop them?” Isaac said. “He-He said if there was more than one we were supposed to leave, right?”

Romy did not respond and instead pulled Marie to her side, “Nous ne sommes pas censés être ici. Il y a des enfants C'est une famille.”

Most of the wolves have been held down. Many of them looked to Isaac with a particular malice.

“Sois gentil! Pas de mort!” Marie called and Isaac understood. Be gentle. No deaths. It was something.

“Ils nous ont déchirés. J'espère que tu plaisantes!” David snapped and got in her face.

“Hey, hey. Vous voudrez peut-être repenser ce que vous faites,” Simon spoke almost dangerously and shoved him back.

“Nous vérifions les yeux. Nous partons,” Marie spoke firmly. Her bubbly persona had devolved into training. She knew how to lead and she would do it.

“You gotta tell me what the fuck is going on,” Isaac said.

“David is being a dick as usual. We’re going to check their eyes and leave,” Romy told him.

“Vérifiez la cave aussi. J'ai vu cet idiot regarder là-bas,” David spoke, pointing at Isaac and the trap door.

“They’re going to check the cellar,” Romy said quietly.

Isaac stepped up beside Simon as he approached the trap door. The pack, each with a gun to their head, shifted restlessly behind them. A man shouted after them.

“Simon, they’re kids,” Isaac almost pleaded with him.

Simon’s eyes flickered to his. He nodded. The slightest inclination of the head to show he had heard him, and then he pushed ahead. He pulled open the door, only to be met by cries of resistance as they desperately tried to hold it shut.

“Ouvre la porte! Nous avons votre peuple!” Simon shouted down. There was a scuffling below and the door swung open.

A man jumped out. His claws out. As the trap door opened Isaac realized where that scent of fear had radiated. Simon’s gun raised. Isaac, acting on pure, stupid instinct shoved him aside and swung his bat into the man’s chest, throwing him back over the trap door and into the wall.

“Oncle Paul!” A voice cried from below.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Simon snapped at Isaac for shoving him aside.

Simon leaned over the hole and was met with screams followed by the body of the boy Isaac had scuffled with before scrambling up, his own, far smaller claws out.

“Vous restez loin de lui!” The woman with the blue eyes snarled.

“Nous ne vous tuerons pas si vous coopérez,” Marie told her. Whatever she said did not seem to calm the woman. “Nous avons seulement besoin de voir vos yeux.” Regardless, her commanding tone pulled Simon away from Isaac.

Romy rejoined Isaac. “We check the eyes, we leave.” She tried to soothe him.

“What… what happens if…?” Isaac wasn’t sure what to ask.

“We allow one alpha per a pack. It is only natural for them. We worry if there are more,” Romy muttered to him. As Simon went down the line from golden eye to golden eye. The younger boy had joined his relatives, writhing against the grip of a hunter, seemingly oblivious to the many guns around him.

“And… blue?” Isaac was afraid to hear the answer.

“We… on a normal hunt,” Romy sighed. “A more prepared hunt. We either put them down or…”

“They’re people,” Isaac snapped. “You don’t put them down, you murder them.”

“Or,” Romy pushed. “We give them three days to leave. We hear from them again, we pursue it.”

“God, you people-”

“You know what blue means, don’t you?” Romy said.

It was hard for Isaac to protest. Who was he to justify murdering innocent people? What, because of Derek? Because the twins tried to redeem themselves?

“We do what we have to,” Romy told him. She sounded like she was quoting her mother.

Isaac’s eyes could not leave that of the woman who had been attacking him so recently. Why did they decide if she deserved to die?

“Qu'en est-il de ceux du sous-sol?” David asked Marie something, and she nodded in reply. David and two of his companions, Leo rushing to his side, headed for the cellar.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Isaac stepped between them.

“We have to check all of them, you fucking idiot,” David snarled, before shouldering past Isaac roughly.

Isaac was torn. He did not trust David but he did not want to leave this woman to have her fate decide by a bunch of young arrogant hunters.

“Romy, you got to go with them. Make sure they don’t hurt any of them. They’re kids, they’re not monsters,” Isaac said insistently. 

Romy nodded somewhat grudgingly and followed her cousin down the ladder.

“Les yeux. À présent,” Simon nudged the blue eyed woman with his boot, causing her to spit at his feet. Her eyes, still shining with malice, remained a very human brown.

“Elle est humaine! S'il vous plaît!” The boy cried down the line. Human. He was lying, trying to protect her. Isaac did not contradict him.

“Calme mon fils. Vous restez en dehors de cela,” the woman ordered him to be quiet. She turned to Simon. “Vous laissez les autres seuls, oui?” She asked if he would leave the others alone.

“Oui,” Simon said quietly.

Her eyes flashed blue.

Simon sighed, seeming disappointed. Another hunter raised his gun, seeming prepared to put her down.

Isaac turned to Marie, “you’re going to let this happen, I thought you were a leader?” He said. Marie looked at him, her soft facade was now stony.

“You do not have authority here,” she told him.

“So I’m asking you to do the right fucking thing,” Isaac half shouted at her. Sure, he was preaching peace, but they couldn’t expect him to tamp down his anger. “This is just a family. You don’t know why her eyes look like that but why do you have the right to decide? You really think your aunt will be happy? You weren’t even supposed to start a fight if it was a whole pack.”

Marie turned away from him. “Noe, arrêtez.” Marie told the young man and he lowered his gun.

“Nous ne laissons pas les tueurs rester sur nos terres. Nous vous donnerons trois jours pour partir,” she told the pack.

The only pair of red eyes in the line, an older woman, one who seemed too old to be fighting, nodded.

“Marie! Ils ne montreront pas leurs yeux,” David called up to them before climbing out, followed by four more of the pack.

“They say they’re human. They can’t show their eyes,” Romy defended them and translated for Isaac.

“Des humains dans une meute de loups?” Marie scoffed.

“Humans can be in a pack. She says she’s the alpha’s wife,” Romy nodded at an older woman in the new line up. “You checked the others, we should just go.”

“Lâche,” David called Romy a coward.

Marie bit her lip. She turned back to the alpha. “Nos demandes sont toujours valables. Vous ne commettez pas de crimes sur notre territoire. Pas avec tes dents,” Marie repeated her demands before turning to her hunters. “Nous partons.”

With those words the hunters left one by one until it was only the few who had engaged.

“Go on. We leave last,” Marie told Romy and Isaac, Simon still watching the pack carefully.

“I…” Isaac hesitated. He did not want Marie to hate him, not when she had listened to him, but… “I want to leave with you all. Just… just in case.”

“I will not go back on my word, Isaac,” Marie told him, seeming offended.

“We’ve done enough damage as is,” Isaac said. Not to mention he feared the moment he stepped outside someone would shout out ‘he’s a werewolf!’

“Let’s all go then,” Marie sighed. Isaac couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder at the pack, so many of them wounded, and feel nothing but guilt.

The last thing he saw was the blue eyed wolf stare back at him, words barely readable from her lips, “traitor.”


	10. Chapter 10

It did not take long after their cars returned to the Argent home for the arguing to start. Everything was fine until the many hunter parents took in injuries instead of intel.

“Tu m'as désobéi directement. Tu ferais mieux d'avoir une bonne explication,” over the general shouting of the parents, Valerie Argent spoke to Marie with a terrifyingly cold calmness. Stating, according to Romy, that Marie better have an explanation for disobeying her orders.

“Tante Val, s'il vous plaît laissez-moi vous expliquer,” Marie was red in the face, Simon standing behind her right shoulder in support.

They left to discuss whatever concerns there were.

Chris passed by the garage, pausing to give Isaac a once over, before shaking his head slightly and leaving.

Isaac hated to admit it, but he did feel slightly ashamed. He had gotten into a fight, despite Chris’s warnings against it, and his claws had come out.

“Alright?” Romy nudged him.

“Yeah,” Isaac rubbed the palm of his hand. It still burned from when he had grabbed onto the wood of the bat. The skin was red and raw.

“Come on, then. Let’s get some food. Celebrate, eh?” Romy offered, already pulling him towards the dining hall.

“Celebrate?” Isaac said a little too sharply.

“No one was really hurt, that’s something, right?” Romy stopped. She looked a little guilty. “Look, I know you aren’t used to this kind of hunt, but you stopped them from shooting the killer wolf. You protected their pups. That’s… something. It’s different,” Romy thought for a moment. “And maybe different is good.”

Feeling some strange sense of relief, something like progress, Isaac followed her.

It was past midnight when Isaac finally left his friend’s side. He returned to his room, feeling exhausted but less haggard than he had been hours before. Isaac shouldn’t have become so relaxed. He had forgotten how to be paranoid. He had heard someone behind him. If he had bothered, he would’ve been able to distinguish who it was simply from his smell. Maybe he would’ve been more cautious then.

“Hey! Lahey!” David called ahead with no subtlety. 

Isaac turned away from his open door. “What-?” Isaac said with an annoyed sigh.

He was cut short by David slamming him into the wall inside his darkened bedroom. Isaac, had he been forewarned, could have knocked David to the ground with a shove. But by now, David, one fist yanking onto Isaac’s shirt, the other clutching a knife. A scent coming from it burned Isaac’s nose.

“I want to talk to you,” David told him. Despite his sharp tone, Isaac could see his hand was shaking. He could smell the fear - and hatred - radiating off of him in waves.

“You’re pathetic,” Isaac said coldly. This knife could hurt him. Isaac didn't care.

“I’m pathetic? You, with your daddy issues and cowardice,” David spat.

“My daddy issues?” Isaac scoffed. “You’ve got family issues. Have you noticed that everyone you know barely tolerates you?” Isaac cut deep.

So did David.

“Shut up,” he snapped, his shaking hand bringing the knife close enough to break skin.

Isaac let out a hiss of pain, refusing to give David more than that. It burned like poison and did not heal. The good news is, it looked like a regular wound, if not a bit burnt beneath the trickle of blood.

“What’re you gonna do?” Isaac panted through gritted teeth. “Slit my throat in your family home? Where I’m a guest?”

“I know what you are,” David spoke so flecks of spit flew from his mouth.

“Pissed off?” Isaac said sarcastically. Regardless, his heart was beating faster now.

“Sh-Shut the fuck up!” David’s voice shook. He evidently had never threatened someone before.

“I’m listening,” Isaac said coldly, leaning into the knife if only to prove he could and that David would yield.

“You’re a- you’re a-” David tried.

“What?” Isaac said softly. “Wolf got your tongue?” Isaac was careless. Something inside of him had snapped. Fuck safety.

David’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected him to be so blasé. 

“Did you think no one would notice?” David’s voice was steady now. “Your fucking claws coming out in the dark?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-” Isaac was cut off by David pressing the side of the blade, still slick with wolfsbane oils, into his neck. It burned. “F-Fuck.”

“How the hell did you worm your way into this house?!” David asked.

Isaac let out a harsh laugh which only caused the blood to flow more heavily from his neck and onto his chest.

“By asking,” Isaac said.

“You’re lying! How did you hide this from Uncle Chris?” David said sharply.

Isaac heard footsteps in the hall. David did too. They both froze. David, for fear of Isaac telling the truth, and if so meaning he was attacking a guest, and Isaac for fear of being outed as a wolf to more people.

They passed.

“They-They would not let someone like you into this house,” David said more quietly.

“They did. Valerie Argent and her sisters looked at a werewolf and welcomed him,” Isaac said.

David was thinking fast. “Others do not know. Romy and Jeanie do not know. There would be an uproar. You would be lucky to survive.”

“What do you want from this, David?” Isaac asked.

“I want you to stop acting like you have a right to be here,” David refocused. “You don’t. And even if Valerie will not throw you out, you will stay out of the way of me and my friends and my training. Or…” David rambled.

“Or what? You’ll tell auntie Val that the scary werewolf was mean to you?” Isaac mocked.

“I’ll tell everyone about what you are,” David burst out.

Isaac was silent for a moment. His only thought was of Romy and the anger that motivated her fists. Her dead father and a lifetime of learning who is us and who is them. She was his friend. His only friend right now and he was more afraid of losing her than of the idiot in front of him.

“Just get out,” Isaac said. “I won’t bother you, you won’t bother me.”

“It is not that easy. You don’t deserve for it to be that easy,” David said. At least he had stepped back. At least there wasn’t a knife pressed to Isaac’s throat. But the hatred that David harbored left Isaac truly uneasy. Everyone in this house must truly want him dead.

“Are you listening to me?!” David snapped. “You shouldn’t be training with us. You aren’t an Argent. And it’s not like you need weapons training anyways. And I will not be insulted by a werewolf in my own home.”

“God, you’re such an arrogant prick,” Isaac muttered.

“God, shut up, will you?” David snapped, knife still clenched in his fist.

“Make your terms and get the fuck out of my room,” Isaac said.

“You… you will not fight me. Better yet, you won’t train with us. And-And you will stop talking to me like you do!” David stammered. “I won’t be disrespected by a fucking dog.”

Isaac stepped forward.

“What? You going to fight back? Break my rules?” Even though David had the knife and the truth, he still held out his knife with trembling hands. Isaac stopped. David continued. “You will not go on hunts with us. And we’ll get along just fine.”

“Great. Now get out,” Isaac said sharply.

“May want to start being nicer to me,” David said, but he did leave and Isaac shut the door behind him, the sharp clatter of him twisting the lock was the only sound left.

“Fuck,” Isaac hissed into the darkness of his room. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it in frustration. “Of all the fucking people!” Isaac kicked his dresser.

Isaac stared at the locked door. A shadow had moved across it. Surely just someone walking down the hall, but Isaac felt a paranoia as old as he could remember set in. He put a chair underneath the door handle.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, what, you think David could kill you? That pathetic asshole?” Isaac paced. He thought about the dozens of other hunters in this house. 

“Goddamnit,” Isaac spoke through gritted teeth. Isaac was tired. How could he sleep? After everything, what was he supposed to do, go to bed and hope things would be normal when he woke up?

They hadn’t been normal for a long time. Ever, really. As if his childhood had been normal either.

The blood had stained into his clothes. Isaac yanked off his shirt, realizing afterwards he had clawed a hole into the fabric. Evidence of what he was. He threw it away.

He flicked on his bathroom light, squinting in the glare. His neck was burning like hell, blood still dripping down his bare chest. It wasn’t even that deep.

“Goddamnit,” Isaac tilted his head up, his hand unsteady as he tried to press and stop the bleeding. It really burned, and an itching, burning pain was spreading across his neck. There was too much of that fucking poison in the wound.

He knew how to take care of it. Isaac just had to make sure he had the strength to take care of it. Quietly.

Isaac began to dig through his bag, praying that when he had shoved his old life into it he had somehow bothered to grab a lighter. In the bottom of the pile of clothes, among wrappers and crumbs, was a lighter. The faded leather casing had the letters C.L. pressed into it. Isaac tried not to think of the name attached to those letters and instead returned to the bathroom.

“Time for the hard part, Isaac. Come on,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

His hands were still unsteady, he tried three times to light it. He watched his own reflection as the flame drew closer to the wound. Isaac’s hand shook.

The lighter clattered into the sink.

“Fuck,” Isaac gasped, a burn now attached to the end of his wound. He had to burn it all out. Only then he would heal. “Okay,” he inhaled. “Okay, I can do this,” he exhaled.

Isaac made a second attempt and had to swallow down a scream. He backed away from the sink, hand pressed into his neck as blood continued to flow. Isaac felt something shift inside himself. He returned a different state. One where Isaac, in a different bathroom, the door also barred, Isaac muffling his cries once again, and instead of a lighter he had poured rubbing alcohol down his back, the cuts there left from a belt burning instead of the wolfsbane.

He could do it then. He would do it now.

“Just like old times,” Isaac muttered. He pulled down a washcloth from the wrack and put it between his teeth. He counted down in his head. Three. Two. One.

The washcloth kept him quiet. No Argent would hear him. He’d gotten good at keeping quiet.

His reflection showed a glint of purple come off like dust from his blood. A bloodied burn now spread from either side of the cut. He stared at the wound, his hands trembling.

Clean flesh moved like a wave until his neck was left perfectly healed.

Isaac finally relaxed.

He pulled back from the sink, using the washcloth to wash the blood from his neck and the sink.

He crawled into bed. Instead of sleep, his eyes remained focused on the door, the only thing between him and a house full of killers was a chair wedged beneath it.


	11. Chapter 11

“You look like shit,” Romy told him the next day.

“Not looking to great yourself, dumbass,” Isaac muttered, sitting down next to her at the breakfast table.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Jeanie took a seat next to him.

“Great, is everyone going to point out the bags under my eyes?” Isaac sighed, nibbling on a bagel rather spitefully.

“I was more thinking about your hair,” Jeanie pointed out helpfully.

Isaac tried to pat down his bedhead. He was just proud of himself for getting dressed. Leather jacket. Scarf. The usual.

“Whoa,” Jeanie grabbed onto his hand. “Leftover from the hunt?” There was blood, watered down, but still pink, on his right hand.

“Must be,” Isaac muttered, pulling his hand away. “So, what happened with Marie and Valerie? Her and Simon get killed?”

“Nah, Simon was in the clear and Marie got off easy because she didn't want to go on the hunt in the first place,” Romy told him. “But this means next time our Jeanie is heading the hunt,” she nudged her cousin proudly.

“With Simon’s help,” Jeanie blushed. “Marie is leaving in a few months anyways. Going to be our ambassador for trade in Korea for the rest of the year.”

“Much more her style,” Isaac nodded.

“She hates leading hunts. Likes being responsible for money, not for lives,” Romy said.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Isaac said.

“Were you a leader, Isaac? In your old home?” Jeanie asked him.

“No,” Isaac said immediately. “No… definitely a follower.”

“You made a good argument last night. Talked a band of hunters down. That is not a small feat,” Jeanie told him. “What a good leader would do.”

“Thanks,” Isaac said somewhat grudgingly. “I think I’ll stick to the fighting part.”

“You were made to be my friend, American,” Romy clapped him on the back.

“Ow,” Isaac replied.

“Shut up,” Romy rolled her eyes. “I was thinking, you were okay with that bat last night, but you need an actual weapon. I am thinking, knives? Or you could work as a gunner. How is your aim?”

“No,” Isaac said sharply. 

“No..?” Romy seemed genuinely puzzled.

“I’m… tired. Tired of fighting. I… I don’t think I want to learn more ways to kill things,” Isaac spoke carefully. It was true, he was tired. But he still wanted to help the packs being preyed on by his friends. He couldn’t. Not with David hanging over his head. Also he wished he could fight using his claws for a change.

“What, are you a… a pacifiste? Pacifist, in english.”

“Not really, I just… I need time, I guess,” Isaac said awkwardly. “Could we… could we do something else?”

“Yes, we can,” Jeanie said pointedly to Romy.

“Yes, yes. You haven’t even made it through the touristy shit you can do in Paris,” Romy said.

“Oh, do I seem like a touristy type?” Isaac said sarcastically.

“Damnit, Isaac you gotta at least see the eiffel tower, you americans love that shit,” Romy told him.

“Fine! What else is there? The fucking eiffel tower and…?” Isaac said, somewhat annoyed. 

“The Louvre,” Jeanie said dryly.

“The… that’s a museum, right?” Isaac said.

“That’s a- yes it’s fucking museum what the fuck is wrong with you were you raised by wolves?!” Jeanie said. It was the first time she had spoken to him like that, utterly emboldened, and kind of furious.

“Wow,” was all Isaac could say.

“It’s the most famous museum in the fucking world,” Jeanie muttered.

“Okay then, we’ll go to the Louvre,” Isaac said.

“Culture is dying,” was all Jeanie could reply.

“Are you going to eat that bagel all day, or can we go?” Romy stood up.

“I’ll eat and walk,” Isaac said through a full mouth.

Isaac stood with the others, a feeling of eyes boring into his back. David stared at him, Leo looking puzzled that his cousin’s attention had changed.

Isaac had a feeling that, since Leo did not look at him with the same hateful gaze, David had kept his secret.

“Hello? You still with us?” Romy waved her hand in front of his face.

“Yeah.”

“After we deal with the standard bullshit. I am going to show you the city with a more… unique perspective,” Romy said with a smirk that Isaac took as nothing short of ominous.

“Romy,” Jeanie said warningly.

“How are you with heights, American?” Romy said with a playful nudge.

Isaac paused, debating the level of danger this girl would go through, “decent.”

“Well I am less so. I will not be sticking around for your little escapades, Romy,” Jeanie told her.

“You’re no fun,” Romy teased, heading down the street a few blocks to the metro station.

“We should also stop by Palais de Tokyo,” Jeanie said, glancing at the map of the underground. It was so strange how every time they spoke French, even in an English sentence, their accents shifted slightly, became more natural.

“Okay, you’ve lost me,” Isaac said.

“Another museum,” Romy rolled her eyes.

“Where do you say we go then, eh?” Jeanie said.

“The Hood,” Romy said.

“A bit hipstery, no?” Jeanie said.

“God you guys might as well keep speaking French,” Isaac said. He had no idea what they were talking about.

“Just go along with it, American,” Romy continued to tease him. “You will have fun no matter what.”

“In the weeks I’ve known you, I’ve learned your idea of fun is probably a bit weirder than mine,” Isaac told her.

“Come on, we’re getting off here,” Romy told him rather than reply.

They returned above ground and the rather romantic view of paris Isaac had been force fed was not quite realized. It felt like a tourist trap of gentrified cafes and vaguely interesting architecture.

“Champ de mars is going to be a nightmare,” Romy said.

“When isn’t it?” Jeanie said, shouldering past a british family huddled around a map.

“That is…” Isaac tried to think. They had talked about Paris in French, but it wasn’t exactly what he had been focused on. “Where the eiffel tower is…?”

“Yes. Kind of like… your central park, yes?”

“I don’t know. I’m from california, not new york,” Isaac said.

“America, it is all the same,” Romy waved him off.

Isaac was about to retort, but couldn’t be bothered when their entire country was the size of a tea cup. He also had just missed his first glimpse of a wonder of the world.

“Come on, then,” Romy pulled Isaac through the crowd for the next few blocks, Jeanie keeping pace.

They rounded the corner and Isaac’s height allowed him to see over the fray and stare across the rolling lawn at what was, apparently, one of the most amazing sights in the world.

“Didn't realize it was that big,” was all he said.

“You know, the tower was not supposed to last this long. It was only meant to stand for, what, twenty years?” Jeanie told him.

“It bothers me that you know this stuff,” Romy replied, the three of them standing in a row staring at the monument, the crowd bending around them, accustomed to gaping idiots staring up at the statue.

Isaac, the cynical depressed bastard he was, did not see the point.

“I mean, it’s… it’s big,” Isaac said.

“You already said that,” Jeanie pointed out.

“Ready to go?” Romy said.

“Yep.”

“Come on, then. Louvre is this way.”

“I, uh, don’t like crowds,” Isaac said, hunched. Weren’t art museums supposed to be calm? Throngs of tourists moved from famous painting to famous painting. The fold around the Mona Lisa was eight thick. Security guards looked haggard.

“Saturdays are not the best time,” Jeanie said, annoyed that they could not just be immersed in what she seemed to consider was the greatest experience Paris had to offer. “What about Palais-”

“Nope. We’re done. We’re getting lunch. The Hood,” Romy pulled them towards the exit. Isaac was just proud to have survived two hours inside the museum.

“What’s ‘the hood’ actually called?” Isaac asked.

“The hood,” Romy said.

“No, I mean in French,” Isaac persisted.

“...it is just called the hood,” Romy told him.

“Part of their moderately pretentious persona,” Jeanie pitched in.

“Said the girl raving about the Louvre,” Romy retorted.

“God, you two bicker like… well. Like sisters,” Isaac said.

“Sisters, cousins, synonymous,” Jeanie shrugged.

“It is good food,” Romy persisted. “And they usually have live music.”

“Never good,” Jeanie muttered behind her back.

Isaac felt pulled back into a different time. Lydia scolding Stiles for being uncultured, or Allison laughing and Scott for somehow getting ketchup on his nose. Isaac felt a jolt in his gut. He’d thought of them. Of her. What a way to uproot his grounding.

“Just get me out of these crowds,” Isaac said.

“You are giant, how is crowds a problem? Just look over them,” the incredibly short Romy seemed annoyed by his request.

Romy had not lied to him. “The Hood Paris” written in english on the windows of a moderately busy café. French written above that.

It was a strange place. Built on the bones of what looked like a very old house. On a raised platform a white guy in a beanie sang soulfully with his guitar. Yikes. The wall was decorated with very hipstery signs and there were shelves covered in painfully fake plants. Romy pushed him up to the counter.

“I order for you? Or would you like to try?” Jeanie said. “You have been working on your French, right?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Isaac lied. His brain now scrambling just to read the menu. It was written in English quite a bit, but the occasional French threw him off.

“Puis-je avoir le sandwich… au jambon? Et du café. Noir,” Isaac managed.

“Well done. You did not make a fool of yourself,” Romy teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac rolled his eyes while they made their own orders.

“Okay. I think after this we go right to my side of things,” Romy said once they were seated. “Unless you feel like braving another museum?”

“I don’t know which is worse,” Isaac said. “No offense,” he directed to Jeanie.

“You may change your mind after this one tries to get you to-” Jeanie said.

“Ey, do not spoil it,” Romy chastised her. That did not calm Isaac’s nerves.

“Do I need to bring a weapon?” Isaac asked.

“No! But are you up to date on all your shots?” Romy asked.

Isaac looked to Jeanie. “She is not kidding,” Jeanie told him. “I will not be joining you. I’m going home after this.”

Romy made a scoffing noise before eating fries with a disconcerting enthusiasm.

“Where are you going, Romy?” Jeanie sighed. “If you get lost somewhere…”

“Don’t worry, we’re following La Petite Ceinture, the, er,” Romy thought very hard to translate it, “the little belt…?” She looked to Isaac.

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me,” Isaac said.

“You’ll see,” Romy waved him off and returned to Jeanie. “We’ll only start there, after that we’ll-” she glanced at Isaac. “Aller sur les toits.”

Isaac was not fluent. But he knew the word “rooftop” well enough.

“Okay. No clue what ‘the little belt’ is but, rooftops? Really?” Isaac said.

“Damnit,” Romy said. “Look, I like climbing things in my spare time. You find… cool places. And the little belt is an old railway.”

“Alright. Could’ve been worse,” Isaac said. “Guessing it’s good I have my tetanus shot, then.”

“Good luck, Isaac. Do not let Romy die,” Jeanie told him before leaving for the metro.

“No promises,” Isaac told her. “Where are we going?” He turned to Romy.

“Also on the metro. We have to get on two trains. It’s on the edge of the thirteenth,” Romy told him.

“Not a fan of trains,” Isaac muttered as they headed the other way towards a different station.

“Why’s that?” Romy asked, perfectly well adjusted to weave past tourists.

“Not a fan of metal boxes I can’t get out of,” Isaac told her.

“Fair enough,” Romy shrugged. “But if we take a cab it will take longer and trust me, you’ll be wasting your money.”

Isaac refused to sit on the crowded car. The last one they had taken had been damn near empty. Lunch rush, he assumed. Romy was right. His height was the only thing that made the bodies pressing in around him bearable. Romy swayed next to him. She moved to grab onto the handle above her. She was too short. Isaac smirked.

“What’s so funny, American?” Romy snapped. She grabbed onto his his bicep, using it as a handle.

Isaac rolled his eyes, but honestly he was amused. 

As they made progress across the city, Isaac glanced down at his friend. She was staring, somewhat wistfully, at a girl sitting across the way. Long mud blond hair, a pretty face, and a nail file between her delicate fingers.

“You’re staring,” Isaac whispered down to her.

Romy shook herself like a wet dog. “She is very pretty, no?” She spoke softly back up at him.

“Didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic, Romy,” Isaac teased.

“Shut up, American,” Romy was red. “We get off here.” She dragged him off the metro car by the arm.

They had entered a less urban region of paris, the buildings were older, less maintained. The streets here did not have tourists on them.

Across the way was a railroad graveyard. Gravel was overgrown by weeds and Isaac saw the tracks sloping towards a tunnel.

“You know, I’m not a fan of being trapped, Romy,” Isaac told her.

“Do not worry, it is a clear path. Opens soon,” Romy dismissed.

“I’m trusting you,” he warned.

“Well that’s a mistake,” Romy laughed.

Isaac’s boots crunched over gravel, Romy a little ahead. It was… pretty. This tunnel. Like a canal with no water. Only rusted tracks and climbing ivy.

“Come here! This is my favorite part,” Romy called to him, entering the next covered tunnel.

Isaac caught up, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dark. The walls were covered in graffiti. Some of them the tags of artists, others nearly a mural.

“It’s brilliant,” Romy said. “Goes on for miles of the track.”

“You ever add anything?” Isaac asked.

“About halfway down,” she pointed ahead. “I’m not an artist, though. Just wanted to be a part of it.”

“So you are in that hipstery bullshit at the Hood,” Isaac said.

“You shut up, American. Spending all your time being all brooding and edgy in those stupid scarves,” Romy replied.

“And that’s why we’re friends,” Isaac said sarcastically.

“Aww, you called us friends,” Romy said. She tried to reach up and squeeze his cheek.

“Regretting my choices already,” Isaac grumbled.

“Come on. There’s one down here that I think an Argent made,” she pulled him forward.

The tunnels moved between two states. One darkened with graffiti and the other a pool of ivy and light.

“Here,” Romy shone the light from her phone onto a wolf drawn with sharp, crude lines. It was circled and crossed out in red. Underneath it was something written in french, the date underneath that. 12/12/82.

“What’s it say?” Isaac asked.

“Killed the alpha Romero here. He killed eight. I killed him once. December twelfth, ‘82,” Romy read. “I’ve never heard of a Romero. I asked my mother about it a while ago, she remembered the name, but not who killed him,” Romy told him.

“Weird. Back in ‘82? Feel like she’d remember that,” Isaac asked.

“Yeah. Either way, I think it’s awesome,” Romy said simply.

“...why?”

“Imagine it,” Romy paced back staring ahead at the tunnel. “Close quarters. Alone. Dark tunnel. An alpha snapping at your heels. Too close for a gun. So it’s just you and whatever knife or bat you had strapped to your back,” she mimed swinging a baseball bat into the dark. “Imagine what it took to take that down! And it says ‘I’ not ‘we’. One person killed an alpha.”

“He killed eight people too. Bastard deserved it,” Isaac added.

 

“Freaky fucking alphas. They’re always killing somebody,” Romy kicked a stone, it clattered through the tunnel before stopping with a splash.

Isaac resisted making a retort.

“Cool they thought to tag it after they won,” Isaac said.

“Badass,” Romy agreed. “Come on. We’re gonna crawl out of here quarter of a mile down,” Romy told him. “I think. I’m sort of guessing with this whole ‘miles’ thing.”

“You can say kilometers. Doesn’t make a difference to me,” Isaac said.

“Well, you’ll see,” Romy waved him off skipping off along the tunnel, pointing out occasional graffiti. Her mark was the words, 'Romy likes girls and killing werewolves' in french. Isaac laughed at her and she was quick to move them along. 

“Up here,” she pointed up out of the tunnels, moving to climb up.

“You need help up, short stock?” Isaac said.

Romy shot him a dirty look before jumping off the wall and hooking her hands onto the edge of the wall. Then she awkwardly clambered up.

“That was tragic,” Isaac told her. Romy offered him a hand. “Really? You think you can pull me up?”

Romy smirked, rolling up her sleeve and flexing her arm only half jokingly. “I am 5’4’’ of pure muscle, American,” she offered her hand again.

Isaac took it, Romy yanking him up so he could get his footing on the wall.

They were in a different neighborhood. It was still full of old buildings and streets which had yet to be touched by tourism, but here the buildings were taller, cluttered together.

“How do you plan on getting on the roof, Romy?” Isaac asked her.

“A ladder,” Romy said, as if it were obvious.

“Hey, uh, his this legal?” Isaac called up to Romy who had already begun scaling a building from a maintenance ladder. It was locked about twelve feet above the ground to, you know, prevent random people from climbing it, but Romy had clambered onto a dumpster and made the jump.

Romy was quiet for a minute, “Does it matter?”

Isaac grumbled under his breath before, inevitably, following her. Romy was waiting for him at the roof.

“Look at this. View of the city without the fee,” Romy gestured proudly to the view of the skyline.

“It’s nice,” Isaac told her.

“Come on, there are better spots,” Romy waved him towards the edge of the roof, where she backed up and jumped off at a running start, barrel rolling smoothly onto the next roof. “Care to follow?” She called back.

“Goddamnit,” Isaac muttered before taking a leap off, landing just as steadily, but with more anxiety.

“Doing good, American,” Romy said, already heading for the next roof.

Isaac followed, but Romy had picked up the pace and with each step ahead of him she laughed. “Never done this before, have you?”

“Normal people don’t do this, Romy,” he called back. “You’re an adrenaline junkie.”

“Says the boy who ran around with werewolves by choice,” Romy said. She waited up for him.

“Yeah, well. I’d had too much adrenaline before then anyways,” Isaac told her, pausing to catch his breath. “Why’d you stop?” He asked.

“Next jump is tough, but it’ll be worth it,” Romy told him. “Wanted to give you a heads up. First few times I tore apart my knees, now though, I can manage the landing,” Romy rolled back her shoulders and stepped back to the edge of the roof they had come from. “You think you can do this?”

“Definitely,” Isaac lied, joining her. “I’m taller than you, I can probably just step across.”

“See on the other side then, American,” Romy took off running, jumping off the roof and out of sight.

The concrete of the roof was different to the forest floor. Those nights spent running with Erica and Boyd had never been more distant, but he felt them there. Doing something reckless with a friend he could only describe as crazy.

Isaac took off running, the ground pounding beneath his feet until he reached the edge, there, his boot launched off the barrier and he realized with a terrifying jolt that this building was farther and lower down than he had initially expected. He hit the ground, hard. He had missed falling off the edge, but he heard his ankle snap beneath him when he landed.

“Hey!” Romy ran over to him, looking worried. “You alright? Did you break something?”

“No,” Isaac said sharply. He could already feel the bones sewing together.

“Really? I thought I actually heard a break-”

“I said no,” Isaac said, forcing himself to his feet. It was not fully healed yet but he could not show it. “It’s just, sore. I’d know if it was broken.”

“Alright,” Romy raised her arms in defense.

“What’s so special about this roof, anyways?” Isaac looked around. There was the hatch which led into the building below, obviously rusted shut, and a shack that looked like it was about to collapse.

“You know what that is?” Romy pointed to the building, if you could call it that. “Old pigeon coop. From forever ago.”

“How’s it still standing?” He asked her. “Aren’t carrier pigeons from like, the seventeen hundreds?”

“Old man used to live in this building. He kept it going. Liked his pigeons. Died a few years back and it was left to rot. The one or two pigeons he kept feeding left, and-” Romy heaved open the door, “-left this stuff behind.”

It didn’t look like a pigeon coop. The shelves and roosts were clean except for old books and junk, a pair of rusted lawn chairs were shoved in a corner. Romy immediately headed for a row of mason jars at the back. She looked back at him, a sheepish sort of grin now on her face, “you, er, okay with smoking?”

Weed. The old man had kept weed in his weird little hut. That and a disconcerting amount of world war two memorabilia.

“Never done it,” Isaac said.

“Aren’t you Californians supposed to be all about… unusual medicines?” Romy said.

“Didn’t exactly have the dreamy LA upbringing,” Isaac told her as she dragged out the lawn chairs and set them up on the roof.

Romy huffed in acknowledgement and flicked her lighter. She passed the joint to him. “You don’t have to,” she told him. “And I’m not planning on getting high, still got to make it home. Just nice to have a buzz sometimes, you know?”

“You’re a little out there for someone being raised by a vaguely culty family of hunters,” Isaac said, holding the smoke cautiously.

“That is exactly why I’m ‘a little out there’,” Romy told him. She stared at him, having not touched the blunt to his lips, “again, you don’t have to.”

“No, just, never done it before,” Isaac inhaled deeply, at first feeling no change, but then coughing violently.

“Hah! Baby lungs,” Romy teased him, before taking it back.

Isaac was fairly confident he couldn’t get high, but he liked the idea of just hanging out with Romy and sharing something between them, so he kept smoking it. The coughing only stopped after his third hit. The air smelled strongly of weed, especially for his heightened nose, and it left a strange taste on his mouth. But he didn’t feel any ‘buzz’.

Isaac, it seemed, would never engage in the charming human experience of damaging your senses and coordination for fun. God, if his dad had caught him with a fucking cigarette he wouldn’t see daylight for a week.

That life felt further away and raw in his chest like smoke at the same time.

“You aren’t a lightweight, are you, American? First smoke ever and you’re looking very sober,” Romy squinted at him.

“Shut up and let me take another hit,” Isaac tried to pull her attention away from his supernatural ability to not have a broken ankle or get high. “How’d you find this place, anyways?”

“Was wandering. Found the old man. He let me pet his pigeons and shared these gross old tuna sandwiches with me,” Romy told him.

Isaac stared at her for a minute. “Did he touch you?”

“No, you fucking weirdo!” Romy gave him a shove. “Dude just wanted to talk about all the weird stuff he’d collected from the war. Died about a year after.”

“Bet it was nice to get away sometimes,” Isaac said.

“Yeah. When he talked about the war, it reminded me that there were other fucked up things in the world besides werewolves,” Romy told him before inhaling deeply.

“And that was… nice?” Isaac asked.

“Comforting. It’s a lot less isolating when other people have got the weight of the world on their shoulders, even if it’s a different world,” Romy shrugged.

“Yeah. I can understand that,” Isaac said quietly. “It was weird for me. I thought my dad was as bad as it could get. But there were actual monsters out there too. Only difference was, I didn’t have to be scared alone anymore. God, we're fucked up."

“The world is absolutely fucked up, Isaac,” Romy told him.

“Yeah. Guess it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for you guys!
> 
> Also, I've made a tumblr to post updates to my works: https://peninkwrites.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> There I'll post when I update a fic and be there to talk about my work! I may take prompts, never really tried before, so feel free to give it a go and bounce some ideas off of me! We all need more Isaac content. If anyone just wants to talk about Isaac, teen wolf, whatever - even outside my work - feel free to hit me up~


	12. Chapter 12

“Does it make you nervous, Isaac?” Dr. Bhatt asked him.

“Well, not really. I’ve been through plenty of full moons before,” Isaac told him.

“Yes, but tonight you won’t have a pack with you,” Dr. Bhatt pointed out.

Isaac frowned, “all you have to do is have an anchor, and then you can control it…” As Isaac said this, anxiety did reach him. What the fuck was his anchor?

“Isaac?” Dr. Bhatt pushed.

“Didn’t exactly think this through,” Isaac told him.

“Are you worried about it, then?” Dr. Bhatt asked.

“I… I held onto my dad. The good memories I had with him. And the bad. That feeling kept me grounded,” Isaac started. “Then… I think it was her. Allison. And Scott. Maybe even the rest of them and what I had to do,” he attempted to explain. “What is it supposed to be now?”

“Surely, what grounds you is at least connected to the same reason you’re in France. Why you’re in therapy and trying to connect with people,” Bhatt reasoned.

“And what do you think that is?” Isaac said a little sarcastically.

“Why don’t you try and figure it out during the rest of the session,” Bhatt told him. “Speaking of homework, did you think of something you’re good at, Isaac?”  
Shit. He’d forgotten.

“Isaac?”

“Gimme a minute to think,” he muttered. He eventually found a solution, but since it didn’t really come from him it felt like a bit of a cop out. “Jeanie, a friend of mine, I guess, she told me I’d make a good leader. I don’t know about that, but she said I was good at talking people down. That’s something.”

“Good,” Dr. Bhatt nodded. “Were you, well, participating? Engaging in… whatever situation brought this realization about? Something at school or…?”

Isaac wrung his hands in his lap, a little sheepish. This was the sort of thing that, not only Chris had scolded him for, but he had a feeling Dr. Bhatt would not approve of. Maybe just as much as Dr. Gallagher had worried when he’d returned to his old house.

“I, uh. I joined them on a hunt,” Isaac said, his voice quiet as it was whenever he felt doubt.

Rather than disappointed, or even worried, Dr. Bhatt looked genuinely confused. “A… hunt.”

“I know I shouldn’t’ve and a lot of people also said I shouldn’t have but I do think I helped someone, in a weird, sort of stupid way,” Isaac rambled a bit.

“No,” Dr. Bhatt seemed to be thinking of something else. “Why would you be going on a hunt, Isaac?”

Now Isaac was a bit confused. “They’re hunters. I guess I shouldn’t have gone but Romy invited me and-”

“Hunters.”

“Yes,” Isaac frowned.

“I…” Dr. Bhatt combed over his notes for a moment. “I didn’t realize,” he said quietly. “This changes things, Isaac. And they’re accepting of you? What clan?”

“Well, only some people know, but I guess I thought you knew I came here with Chris Argent-”

“Argent,” Dr. Bhatt cut him off again. He rubbed his face with his hands, looking weary. “You, a werewolf, are staying with the Argents.”

“Yeah, it’s a little weird, Beacon Hills always defied the norm and… and Allison made them better. Her father, at least,” Isaac told him.

“Isaac, I don’t think you’re processing the gravity of the situation, here,” Dr. Bhatt leaned forward with a nervous, high laugh. “You… you’re staying with the Argents.” He said it again like somehow it would change the meaning. “I need you to tell me exactly how this happened. Who knows, how.”

“What, you think this is some ruse so they can kidnap me?” Isaac said sarcastically. Bhatt remained deadly serious. “Chris’s side of things, back in Beacon Hills, was different. At least after Gerard was out of the picture. The Argents only worked to protect the town. Not to hunt for the sake of hunting,” Isaac explained. Bhatt nodded along, now actually biting his nails. “Chris contacted his cousin, Valerie Argent. She’s in charge now.”

“Yes, yes, I heard the old woman was sick,” Bhatt waved him along.

“She wants to do better. Like Chris. So she said I could come. Only her and her Sisters know about me, a few others, just their husbands, I think,” Isaac explained.

“That’s… that’s your insurance?” Bhatt’s laugh now sounded hysterical. “Just don’t tell anyone?!”

“Dr. Bhatt, do you know something I don’t?”

“God, in any other situation I’d call child protective services…” he mumbled, running his hand through his hair.

“Dr. Bhatt, what’s wrong?” Isaac pushed.

“Isaac, my connections here to your world are from a group of emissaries without packs. That is why I am here after I lost my own pack, because of their work here in Paris. They’ve formed a little support group of sorts, they warned me about the Argents from day one,” Bhatt spoke with genuine fear in his voice.

“And?”

“They’re the reason they don’t have packs, Isaac!” Bhatt said in a sharp whisper, almost afraid they would be overheard. “The emissaries did not set up here without reason. Their goal is to at the very least monitor the Argent’s actions. Any pack in Paris, they die. The ones outside, lucky to make it out of the country intact,” Bhatt spoke with urgency. “They’ll kill you, Isaac. I don’t know this Valerie woman, but being better than her mother is not what I’d call a safety net.”

Isaac frowned, true fear beginning to weigh in. “I trust Chris. He’s not just a better hunter, he’s smart. He isn’t naive and wouldn’t have taken me here unless he was absolutely sure.”

“I’d like to speak with him,” Bhatt said.

“With Chris?” Isaac asked, bewildered.

“Yes. And… god, there’s no legal team I could contact for this…” Bhatt muttered to himself. “And I am going to offer you a place with us. With the emissaries. I cannot force you to take it, but I also want you to know that I believe that, maybe not today, maybe even not this year, an Argent will try to kill you. Their family, it seems, is a mixed bag, but that does not change the fact that their family are killers, through and through.”

“The Argents I know… they aren’t like that,” Isaac said a little hoarsely. “Allison, Chris, they were better-”

“What about here, Isaac? Here and now? Those girls you talked about, Romy and Jeanie, do they know? Would they not try to kill you?” Bhatt pushed.

“I-I don’t know,” Isaac stammered. He didn’t feel like he was talking to a therapist anymore, he was talking to a survivor trying to smuggle him out of the warzone.

“An entire generation before this Valerie woman, if she really has changed, would have gladly had Chris bring you to their door and shot you on sight,” Bhatt said fiercely. “Leader or not, those same people are still in that house. God, Isaac, how the hell did you manage to get into something like that? Tonight’s the full moon, how the hell are the Sisters going to take having a werewolf in their house then?”

Isaac felt very cold now, but how could he leave? The whole reason he hadn’t torn David to pieces is he didn’t want to lose what little stability he had gained.

“I can call Chris,” Isaac said.

“Good,” Bhatt nodded before scribbling something down and tearing it from his notes. “This is very unprofessional, and in any other circumstances I would never do this, but, here. It’s my personal phone number. If something happens I cannot trust the office number to get back to me immediately. No matter what happens, my offer of the emissary safehouse will still stand.”

Isaac called Chris, who seemed more confused than annoyed when asked to stop by the offices.

“What’s this all about?” Argent came back to the offices, finding Isaac sitting on the couch and wringing his hands, the doctor pacing the length of the office.

“You must be Mr… Argent,” Bhatt said the words with much consideration, eyeing Chris with caution.

“And you’re doctor Bhatt. Is everything okay?” He glanced to Isaac who didn’t know how to explain.

“Please have a seat,” Bhatt gestured to the couch.

“I’m fine with standing.”

“Please. This is my office, I would like for us to have a civil discussion,” as if to prove the point Bhatt took his own seat. Chris grudgingly followed. There was silence for a moment. Painfully uncomfortable. “I was… not aware that you were an Argent. It’s no one’s fault, least of all Isaac’s, and I should’ve asked for your last name as well as his when you scheduled the appointments, but that’s all in the past now-”

“I’m sorry, what exactly is this about?” Argent grew impatient.

“I would prefer you didn’t interrupt me, Mr. Argent,” Bhatt, a man calm and collected, if not a bit absent minded at times, was oddly cold. “Once Isaac told me these circumstances, I began to fear for his safety. He was adamant that you and your cousin, Valerie Argent, had taken precautions, but forgive me if I wanted to speak to you myself.”

“And?”

“And I want to confirm the precautions that have been taken. This is a very serious matter. You have brought an underaged boy into a house of people who very well may wish him dead,” Dr. Bhatt said firmly. “You must understand why I am concerned.”

Argent nodded slowly, seeming to, at least grudgingly, see the truth in his words.

“You don’t associate with Argents, right?” Chris asked. Bhatt nodded. “So, it’s fair that your perception of my family is a little warped.” Bhatt’s jaw was set at this. “I am not excusing the atrocities that my family has commited in previous generations. God, I know my father was the worst of the worse, but my cousin, Valerie Argent, is a good leader. And we have very strict rules about the treatment of guests in our home. Isaac has both myself and Valerie, as well as the defense of all the Sisters in the family. That may not sound like much, but disrespecting their authority in our house has serious consequences.”

“Convince me,” Dr. Bhatt pushed. Isaac hadn’t expected such steely conviction from him.

“Isaac at the very least is capable of defending himself for the, say, minute before a whole unit of experienced hunters came to his aid. Even the hardest hunter in our ranks knows that Valerie’s mother was a megalomaniac by the end of her reign, and Valerie’s authority, at present, is very unlikely to be undermined,” Chris explained, Bhatt nodding along. “Besides, the only people who know what Isaac is are those who we know will not cause him harm.”

Isaac felt a little guilty at that. But what was he to do? Tell on David and have him shout what he was from the rooftops immediately after?

“What about those who don’t know? If they were to discover him-”

“They won’t. And if they did, they would be forbidden from acting,” Chris said firmly.

“Okay, fine. Let us say Isaac is physically safe with your family,” Bhatt said. “Did you ever think about the mental collateral of a toxic home environment? Especially on someone with deep experience with feeling unsafe at home?”

Chris frowned. He didn’t think of that. Why would he? He was Chris Argent. “Isaac made the decision to come here. I warned him of the circumstances.”

“Yes Isaac consented to come here, but living with that kind of tension day to day could actually have lasting impact on his health, Mr. Argent,” Bhatt pushed.

“Like I said, he made his choice. All I can do is ensure his safety,” Argent said coldly, defensive now. Bhatt was about to retort.

“Are you just going to keep talking about me like I’m not here?” Isaac finally spoke up. They both turned to him, seeming genuinely surprised that he had spoken at all. “Look, Dr. Bhatt, I understand why you’re worried, and yeah, like I said, lying to a bunch of hunters is stressful, but that’s part of why I’m seeing you, isn’t it? And Chris, don’t get so defensive when Bhatt has seen what your family is capable. I know you want to defend them, but your family has done some damage. And I… I trust Chris to make sure I don’t get stabbed by a paranoid Argent, and I trust you, Bhatt, to help me figure out how to live there. But you two just bickering over who’s right isn’t helping anyone.”

“Isaac is right,” Bhatt, the less stubborn of the two, spoke first. “Regardless, Isaac. The safehouse offer still stands.”

“Safehouse?” Argent said sharply.

“Yes. Only a precaution. Much like your precautions with Valerie Argent,” Bhatt said coolly.

“You can’t expect me to let you smuggle off the kid I’m responsible for to somewhere I don’t know-”

“And you can’t expect me to expose a safehouse for the supernatural to the most notorious hunting family in Europe!” Bhatt snapped back.

“Did you not here me tell you both to shut up?!” Isaac said loudly. “Let’s just leave it as is.”

“Come on then, Isaac. We have a full moon to prepare for,” Chris led Isaac out of the office, his hand on his back in a fatherly behavior that had not occurred before now. What, he was really that threatened by Dr. Bhatt?

“What do you mean, we have a full moon to prepare for?” Isaac registered his words as they entered the street. “I can control my shift.” Well, he had been able to.

“Isaac, you can’t expect the Argents to have a werewolf loose in their house on the full moon.”


	13. Chapter 13

“It is just a precaution,” Valerie told Isaac. They stood in her office, the door shut to prevent eavesdropping, and Valerie had informed him of the conditions decided by their council.

“A necessary one. If you are not okay with it, we would ask you to at the very least leave Paris for the night,” Louise backed her. “Even then, I cannot in good conscious allow a young, packless werewolf to roam the countryside freely.”

“Fine, but you got to admit, it sort of has some dark implications,” Isaac’s arms were folded over his chest.

“Valerie, I understand the line of ash, but a chain, really?” Chris asked and Isaac felt grateful to have someone on his side.

“If he turns and can’t control it, we don’t want someone to accidentally break the line and set him loose without any restrictions,” Louise told her cousin.

“Both of you, settle,” Valerie stopped Chris from making a retort and refocused on Isaac. “I know you have a very complex history with confinement, even outside the supernatural world, so if you fear this might be dangerous for you, arrangements can be made. I could send you and Chris, along with a small team, to one of our stations in the countryside. You would be unconfined, but guarded.”

Isaac cringed at the thought, trying to stay calm with a group of hunters, and worse, an emotionally inept Chris, for the entire night.

“Being locked in my room doesn’t sound so bad now, actually,” Isaac said.  
“I’m glad you see it that way,” Valerie nodded. “If anyone asks, do you think you can think of some excuse for staying in your room?”

“Yeah, I can. Worst case scenario I blame it on my trauma,” Isaac said with a laugh. The three adults did not seem to get the apparent joke.

“Isaac! Come’re!” Later that evening, still many hours before the moonrise, Romy called him over.

“Yeah?” He sighed. He didn’t mean to be terse with her but the full moon was already stressful without a bunch of hunters nearby.

“Full moon tonight!” She told him. “We usually stay up, listen to the police scanners. It’s good fun. Usually have junk food, play card games. And if we hear something, sometimes we get to come along!”

Great. On the full moon they had a slumber party.

“I, uh, think I’m gonna get an early night instead,” Isaac said awkwardly.

“Why? Scared a werewolf will get you?” Romy teased.

“No, I just… weird memories. With full moons. The times I was with my friends on those nights, or when things went wrong,” the excuse came easily to him because it was not a lie. “And I miss them.” That was not a lie either.

“Aw, Isaac!” She put her arm around his shoulder. “But don’t you want a distraction, maybe? So you don’t dwell on it?”

“No, Romy. I want to be left alone tonight, okay?” Isaac snapped at her. He knew it wasn’t fair, but better this than her coming knocking and being met with amber eyes.

Romy stepped back. “Whoa, Isaac. It’s okay, you don’t need to defend yourself to me,” Romy did not tease him, but somehow that was worse. She was colder, not unkind, but not so open either. He would’ve preferred if she had pouted, or snapped back. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

“You’re a genius, Isaac. Can’t talk to anyone without fucking up,” Isaac muttered, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

Isaac, feeling sulky, went to his bedroom earlier than necessary.

He went to the window, cracking it open in the hopes that the fresh air would make him feel less trapped. He could spend the night… well. It was best he slept. Claws made most potential activities a bit risky. He’d break his phone or tear apart a book or something stupid. Isaac missed full moons. Not the ones where some great danger chose to act on that night, but the ones he spent running in the woods with Erica and Boyd, just goofing off and feeling a sense of life no human would ever experience. Even with Scott, who was less chaotic and more calm, it was nice just to find somewhere to settle in the reserve, looking over Beacon Hills and just feeling one another’s company.

It would be nice just to spend some time alone, away in the French countryside, feeling some sense of solace that was missing in this house. Isaac had kept every sign of his strength and powers heavily tamped down. It was fitting that he’d spend the night locked up in response. Isaac was good at keeping quiet in his room and biding his time. He was adept at using that strategy to avoid his father. Still, it was hard to distract himself when the moon already left him feeling agitated. He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, knowing he wouldn’t be able to change with a chain on him.

Chris knocked before entering.

“That time already?” Isaac said. He had known before. He could feel the moonrise coming.

Chris nodded. Louise stood behind him, arms folded in the hall.

“What’s she doing here?” Isaac asked reproachfully.

“Good question,” Chris glanced at her, apparently equally disgruntled at her presence.

“I respect you, cousin, but I fear your attachment to the boy may cloud your judgement,” Louise told him. “I am here to make sure this gets done.”

Chris nodded stiffly, having known that much.

Isaac was now more focused on the coil of chain in his hand than on the unwelcome guest. Chris noticed him staring.

“Just around your ankle. And I’m going to put a towel between it so it doesn’t graze your skin, okay?” Christ told him.

“More thoughtful than my dad ever was,” Isaac said sarcastically. This seemed to unsettle both Louise and even Chris, who Isaac thought had known.

“Louise, c'est injuste. Le garçon a assez de traumatisme tel quel,” Chris spoke quietly to Louise in French so he would not join in. Isaac could guess the meaning. Chris was pitying his poor, traumatized ward.

“How about you talk to me? Or we can just get this over with,” Isaac said, annoyed once again by these people using a language barrier to talk over him.

Louise ignored him. “Les problèmes d'un loup-garou ne sont pas une priorité. La sécurité de tous dans cette maison est.”

“Chris, stop trying to actually care about me and just do your job,” Isaac said coldly. The moon, and his circumstances, were making him sharper.

Chris’s jaw tensed, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He merely obliged.

Isaac flinched more at the clatter of the chains together than Argent actually wrapping it around his ankle. The cloth prevented it from digging against his skin which Isaac appreciated. The bruises on his neck, and even torn skin at times, were particularly irritating in their time. That’s what scarves are for, right?

It was a long coil of chain. He could move around his room easily, even as Argent padlocked the other end to his bed frame.

Louise stared closely, making sure Argent did not slack in security. It was hard for Isaac to hate her, knowing that when she looked at him she could only see her dead husband. That she was responsible for so many innocent lives in this house and to her he was a killer waiting to happen  
She had a small bag with her.

“We’re going to make the line around the doorway so we can shut it. And I’ll lock it from the outside so no one will come in, okay?” Chris actually seemed worried. “If anything happens, you call me.” He turned to leave, before turning around, “moonrise is around six. I’ll come and get you then.”

“I’ll be fine, Chris,” Isaac rolled his eyes. The weight on his ankle still present.

Argent waited on the other side of the doorway as Louise laid a line of fine black powder around the arc of the door.

“The outer wall and window frame are laid with ashwood, so don’t get any ideas,” Louise warned, causing Isaac to scoff.

“I’ll be downstairs. So, I won’t be far,” Chris told him.

“Go on, Chris. Go listen to the police scanner with your family,” Isaac waved him away.

The lock clicked from the other side. Only then did a strange loneliness and anxiety return to him. He was once again trapped and, worse, he did not have a pack.

Every shift he made caused the chain to clatter against the hardwood, the sound causing unpleasant memories to return to Isaac. The chain had always been around his neck so, while trapped, the coil around his ankle did not bother him as much as being locked in. Isaac suddenly realized that he could no longer hold back his claws and his irritation was quickly growing into something more primal.

What was his anchor again?

Isaac sat on the edge of his bed, holding his head in his now clawed hands, elongated teeth grinding together as he began to see red. It wasn’t anger. That was far too simple. He became a hunter more than anyone in this house. Isaac had to find some sense of support otherwise he would lose it. And he doubted he could wolf out quietly, contained as he may be, tearing his room apart would not be subtle.  
Isaac just couldn’t _think _. He was more alone than he’d ever been and all he could think about was Erica and Boyd and Scott and pack and _her _. Allison’s blood was too fresh for him to cope. Too many of them were dead. Isaac suddenly felt weak. Allison had made him weak before. In a very different time.____

____Now she sapped his strength. And any animalism the moon gave him was replaced by far too much humanity.  
Isaac had never known how the full moon was only bearable with someone beside him. A wolf needed a pack and that longing did not settle well with the fact that Allison was dead. Isaac could not turn to his allies in Beacon Hills - Isaac would rather tear himself apart than to face calling Scott - so he was left only with pain._ _ _ _

____That was what settled him. Unbridled anguish anchored him. And it made Isaac sick. If all he had was his lonely soul and his broken heart, what was the point in being tame? If only he could black out to the wolf inside him and get gunned down by a hunter before dawn.  
But he could no more resist the choking sobs rising in his chest than he could bring her back. Isaac curled back onto his bed, the sound of the chain acting only as a physical trigger since his conscious mind was more occupied in his mantra of grief._ _ _ _

____A floorboard creaked outside his room. Isaac muffled his cries immediately, a skill developed with practice, and his senses, unrestrained in the moonlight, immediately detected the scent of whoever was outside: Romy._ _ _ _

____“I… I know you’re there,” Isaac called out. He did not say her name since there was no human explanation for him knowing it was her and he did not move since chains were noisy and would send up red flags immediately. He was just glad the wood would muffle his voice which was distorted by fangs._ _ _ _

____“Come on, American,” Romy at least had the decency to sound guilty for bothering him. “I know something is more wrong than you’re telling me.”_ _ _ _

____“Romy, do you not know how to fuck off?!” Isaac snapped._ _ _ _

____Romy was quiet for a moment but Isaac could still smell her and see the shadow of her feet under the door._ _ _ _

____“Isaac, you won’t scare me off twice with that trick,” Romy said. “Do most people really run off with their tails between their legs when you shout at them? You’re far from scary, American.”_ _ _ _

____Isaac, his eyes glowing amber, with claws and teeth, found that a little hard to believe. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”_ _ _ _

____“Isaac, I’m coming in,” Romy said and for a moment Isaac panicked. The door handle rattled, but it was locked tight. “Putain d'enfer… did you lock the door?”_ _ _ _

____“I said I wanted to be left alone,” Isaac said. Romy didn’t move. “Look… can we talk about this tomorrow or something? When I said I wanted to be alone for the night I meant it.”_ _ _ _

____“Why, you hiding a wolf in there?” She teased. It did make Isaac laugh. “Fine. But don’t shut people out. It’s cowardly. And doesn’t become you.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah, yeah. Good night Romy,” Isaac told her. Only then did he hear her walk away._ _ _ _

____Isaac was calmed. No longer wracked with grief or unbridled anger. Romy, in her own stupid and unknowing way, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, had mellowed him. He had been distracted from all the pain inside this room and had been appeased by the girl outside of it. It wasn’t an anchor exactly, but it was a distraction._ _ _ _

____That was all he needed right now._ _ _ _

____Isaac was calmed. He curled on his bed, not realizing how doglike his position was, and while he didn’t sleep (which would be impossible with the energy of the moon still roaring in his head) he did rest. Isaac was painfully lonely. The hollowness his pack and his loved ones left seemed to spread through every part of him, but he somehow made peace with the pain. He loved them all so much he thought he might die from the ache of it, and then maybe join them, and that feeling stabilized him._ _ _ _

____Isaac’s state consisted of the occasional shuddering sob, but he did not lose control in that sense. Even as a child he knew crying would not get him any help, so Isaac simply stayed put. Allowing his mind and body to emit his grief however it saw fit. Tonight of all nights, he could not contain his sorrow._ _ _ _

____Isaac wondered, had he not focused so hard to prevent his shift from taking over, if his cries would have sounded like a wounded animal.  
It was the first true breakdown over their deaths he’d had in a long time. It wasn’t cathartic exactly, but it was grounding. He could manage that. At least until the moon set._ _ _ _


	14. Chapter 14

“Isaac.”

He jolted awake, the rattle of the chain causing his heart to race.

“Just me,” Chris was whispering. The line of ash was broken.

Isaac realized his claws had retracted and his exhausted body had finally let him sleep.

“It’s a little past six,” Chris entered the room, going to unlock the boy’s ankle.

“Thanks,” Isaac muttered, rubbing his eyes. He cringed as Chris unwrapped the chain from the frame of the bed.

Chris had yet to leave the room. He seemed to be trying to compensate for how unnerving it was to have to unchain a kid. A kid who already had similar memories. Even a hunter had to find it dark. “Your ankle okay?”

“It has to be. Heals,” Isaac shrugged. He did feel like a weight had left him, his ankle now feeling oddly naked without the towel wrapped around it.

“Yeah, but did it hurt you at all?” Chris pressed.

“No,” Isaac said. Chris seemed to sense his bitterness. There was always a wall between them. What did they have in common besides a dead girl?

“We have a whole month until the next moon. I’m sure I can convince them to-”

“To what? Let a werewolf be free to roam their house?” Isaac said sharply. “We both understand why they’re afraid. Their kids are in this house. Their family.”

“I don’t care if you don’t think they can change. I’m going to try,” Chris said. He was with that serious aloofness Chris carried, but he was still concerned. That much was clear. “This… this isn’t right. Surely out of anyone you can understand that.”

Isaac felt a strange anger growing despite the moon having left him. “You don’t know _anything_ about what I understand. You don’t know anything about me or what I’m supposed to be feeling.” He _hated_ how people pretended to know what it felt like to be him. To understand what had been done to him.

“Then why are you so angry, Isaac?” Chris said. Isaac hated how calm he was.

“Stop pretending like you care!” Isaac hissed. He wanted to scream at him but as always, fear kept him quiet.

“Do you think I would put up with the nonsense- the bullshit you put me through if I didn't care?” Chris snapped. He was always so reserved. Every thought locked away. “I came here to get away. To be with my family and to grieve my dead daughter. Not to take care of a kid who was-” Chris seemed to register what he was doing. Stopping himself finally.

“Who was what?” Isaac said. “I’ve thrown punches. So don’t stop now.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Chris said coldly.

“Come on, Chris. You never were a coward,” Isaac said dryly. Chris refused to retort, knowing better now than to engage with a teenager’s games. “A kid who was what, already fucked up before you got him? Who was there when she died? You’re gonna hold back now after all the shit I’ve said? I said you shouldn’t have fucking let her go that night. Hell, I _blame_ you for your family. And you’re just going to stand there and act _civil_?!” It was like he was trying to goad him. Desperate for a reaction.

“Isaac,” Chris sighed. For once he did not walk away. Especially because he was ashamed of the fact that he had been about to say ‘already damaged’. To a _kid_. Who had trusted him enough to come here. It was careless. So he did not reject Isaac’s anger. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Isaac had not expected such a passive response from the hunter. And honestly, he had gone looking for a fight. Considering the harm usually caused by arguing with a parental figure, it had bad implications. Closest thing to self harm a werewolf could get. Isaac had _wanted_ Chris to hit him. That was a problem to unpack another time. Now he was stilled.

“What?” Isaac was less angry now and more confused.

“You’re so defensive. You don’t trust what’s around you. Do you really fear someone caring about you that badly?” Chris said.

Isaac let out a harsh laugh. “I’m defensive. Yeah- Do you know how exhausting it is to not be able to go home? And here… every day all I hear is how much they want to kill people like me.”

“Can’t go home?” Chris sat down next to him, wringing his hands, but he was listening. And that was… new.

“Things here are bad,” Isaac told him. “And they’re better too, I guess, but anyone who isn’t as fucked up as me wouldn’t stay here. Not when they want to kill me. But I can’t go back. It’s hard enough with you here. I don’t know how you can put up with me when sometimes I look at you and just…” He paused. “I don’t hate you. But I hate that you make me think of her.”

“Why do you think I’ve avoided you so much?” Chris said. His own bitterness more at himself than anything. “You said I wasn’t a coward, but as if I haven’t been these past weeks. I’m responsible for you. I keep saying it, but what the hell have I done to help you?”

“What should you be doing?” Isaac replied. “You’re not my dad - thank god - so I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

“Christ, Isaac,” Chris sighed. “You’re in another country. Alone. I’m all you’ve got, I _took_ you here, and you don’t know why I feel responsible for you?”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but my perception of parenting is a little warped,” Isaac said sarcastically. Chris laughed.

“I didn’t mean to abandon you, Isaac,” Chris said after a pause. “I’m a father for christs sake, I’m supposed to be better than this.” Chris did not say ‘was’. He was still her father. If she was… there or not.

“Don’t worry. My standards for fathers is incredibly low,” Isaac said.

“You’ve got a fatalistic sense of humor, kid,” Chris shook his head.

Isaac shrugged. “Whole generations got it. Blame it on the financial crisis of o’eight.”

Chris was, in no way shape or form, a fatherly figure to Isaac. That would be a whole different minefield. He definitely wasn’t some alpha like Derek and he wasn’t even on the same level of amazing as Melissa, but he was something. Chris lost his daughter the same night he lost his… what, first girlfriend? It hurt Isaac more than anything, but as if he could imagine what Chris was feeling. The least they could do was understand each other, even though they didn’t understand anything else.

“Sleep well, Isaac?”

“Eat shit, David.”

“Whoa, language,” David told him, walking beside him in the empty hallway. “Don’t want to piss anyone off, now do we? Maybe your friends will start to wonder why you were inside all night.”

“Why’re you here?” Isaac turned to face him sharply, getting a very keen satisfaction at how David leered back. “Thought we had an arrangement. You stay out of my way, I stay out of yours.”

“I make the terms, dog,” David snapped. “I should’ve fucking killed you last night. I can’t believe they let you stay.”

God, Isaac wanted to break his nose.

“Why didn’t you, then?” Isaac eventually spoke.

“What?” David paused.

“Wanted to fucking kill me, huh? What, you’re too much of a coward to get a gun from downstairs and do it?” Isaac stepped forward. David stepped back.

“God, you’re a freak,” David muttered, but he was no longer looking Isaac in the eye.

“Stay away from me,” Isaac snapped, heading down to the dining hall, blood boiling. He was surprised he didn’t wolf out right then.

“What’s got you all riled up?” Romy asked, sliding him a mug.

“Nothing,” Isaac told her. If she went running to tell David to piss off Isaac wasn’t sure what he’d do. Already he was playing a dangerous game.

“Rough night?” Romy spoke more carefully now.

“You could say that,” Isaac said.

“No wolves came crawling in your window?” Romy teased.

“No,” Isaac said with a half-hearted laugh. “Romy… about the stuff I said last night…”

“The, ah, ‘don’t you know how to fuck off’ comment?”

“Among other things.”

“I already knew you had baggage, Isaac. It’s not exclusive to you, either. And it isn’t your fault for showing it. Hell, if anyone understands what it’s like to be paranoid on the full moon it’s us,” Romy was immediately understanding.

“Thanks, I could explain…?” Isaac offered, already thinking up lies.

“Nope. You shouldn’t have to,” Romy said firmly.

Isaac paused for a moment, feeling undeniably grateful. Even to just be saved from lying even more. “Thanks, Romy.”

“Don’t mention it, American.”


	15. Chapter 15

Life returned. Full moon or not. So he focused on school and kept his head down. Just as was expected of him.

“Isaac,” Romy said in a whiny voice. “You were ahead of us. I don’t understand maths.”

“Come on, you really think this pathetic American is going to be able to help you?” David said sharply. His bitterness towards Isaac had only grown.

There was a pause where those around him expected Isaac to make a sarcastic retort. He made none. Not when David stared at him with that kind of challenge. That kind of threat.

“Isaac? Did you have a stroke?” Romy nudged him. “You’re gonna let this stupid motherfucker talk to you like that?”

Isaac was tired. He was running out of slack to tolerate David’s mocking him. “I don’t play into the taunts of insecure little boys.” He heard himself say it without thinking it through.

Romy snorted. “Good. Thought I lost you there for a second!”

David stared at him with an anger he struggled to bottle down. Isaac avoided him for the rest of the conversation. David evidently didn’t like being ignored either.

“Hey! Hey you can’t talk to me like that!” David pursued Isaac down the hall.

“Like what, David? Like you’re a pathetic coward who I can’t seem to unstick from the bottom of my boot?” Isaac was so goddamn tired of being manipulated and belittled by men - or boys - with superiority complexes.

“Hey, you-” David’s insult never made it out. Since as he was saying it he had grabbed Isaac by the arm and yanked him back as if to throw him to the ground. Isaac, acting on both memories of being pushed around and just pure irritability, grabbed onto David’s wrist. He bent it back slowly. David let out a little cry of pain and only then did Isaac let go.

“I am tired of you trying to control me. You have to blackmail and manipulate people into not talking about how much they hate you,” Isaac hissed, stepping closer. “Your entire family tolerates you at best. Most of them think you’re pathetic, and you have the audacity to play these games with me?”

“Do you not know what I could do to you?!” David snapped.

“I don’t care anymore. You’re a coward. Through and through. As if you’d have the guts to tell someone,” Isaac was out of control. “I’m surprised no one's ever misfired in your direction on a hunt, just to put an end to your fucking whining,” it was harsh. Isaac didn’t care. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, it’s never going to happen. Your family won’t respect you for pushing people around. You’re going to be a near useless hunter who’s gonna get himself killed for his own ego.”

David did not even reply. Simply stared with wide eyes. Then he turned and walked away. Tail between his legs. Isaac was more unnerved by how familiar the way his shoulders hunched in shame was. Far more than by whatever threat he posed. Coward. Through and through.

Isaac needed to learn how to control his anger. Here it was dangerous. But it was so hard to tolerate someone controlling him like that. He was _done_.

Yet the following days were silent. David seemed to avoid him at every turn and Isaac was starting to think he had scared him off for good.

Isaac felt himself relax back into life. He still stayed out of David’s way, but it was more out of pity for him than fear. Isaac had gotten back into the fight. He’d taken to sparring with his friends, just to try and have _some_ skill besides claws. In case they get in a tight corner and there’s too many witnesses to wolf out.

Since Isaac did his best to tamp down his strength, make it a fair fight, he was getting his ass kicked by Romy. Jeanie too, but in somewhat different circumstances.

They both had rifles, unloaded, and the idea was to be able to use them at close range when you ran out of ammo. Jeanie leaned back to try and get him in the shoulder. Isaac felt this moment slow as she leaned back to strike, her leg stepped forward. He felt the urge to go for the bad leg, an instinct more than anything, but the thought of kicking into a not so old wound left him hesitating. So he got a bruise on his shoulder. Well, for the ten seconds before it healed over.

“I saw that, Isaac!” Jeanie actually seemed _pissed_. “Next time you plan on making a move, _and_ back out of it, be less obvious.”

Isaac rubbed his shoulder, looking a little wide eyed. “I…”

“You should’ve gone for the fucking leg!” To prove her point, she kicked him in the knee, forcing it to buckle beneath him. “You do that in any other situation, you’re gonna get yourself killed. And if you do that again with me, you’ll get the same result,” Jeanie had thrown her rifle aside and stormed out of the gym, the edges of her scar still visible just past her leggings.

“What the hell was _that_ about?” Isaac scrambled to his feet.

“You should’ve gone for the leg,” Romy shrugged, shaking her head slightly. Isaac gave her a look. “Jeanie… don’t pity her. Especially about her leg. Otherwise…” Romy stared after her cousin. “She’ll break yours.”

“I thought I was being noble or some shit… trying to be fair…” Isaac grumbled.

“We’re not training for things to be _fair_ , Isaac,” Romy crinkled her nose in apparent distaste.

“Christ, you guys need more therapy than I do…”

“Come on. We should go eat now. Dining hall is always busy on a monday night. No one bothers to go out…” Romy complained, leading her friend upstairs. She did not bother to shower before eating, so Isaac didn’t either.

Romy hadn’t lied. All the retirees crowded around their table, like always, but even those in their twenties stayed home for the night. The chatter was an assault on his hearing, but he could let it go and enjoy being a part of things. Romy nudged him as he was lost in thought. She had already piled carbs onto her own plate and had started putting random things on his.

“Romy,” Isaac rolled his eyes.

“You spend a lot of time up there,” she poked his forehead, which was quite a stretch for her.

“Was that a tall joke?” Isaac asked.

“No, bean pole. _That_ was a tall joke,” Romy said. Only she could get away with such teasing.

They settled into their usual table, Isaac making sure Romy sat between him and Jeanie, who was sipping on soup a little gloomily. In a row along the table was way too much bread than an American would considered necessary, and vats of soup on hot plates were placed intermittently.

Isaac would never get over dinners in France. They actually had several courses. Like. Regularly. So after this there would be some bourgeois fish and a bunch of things in fattening sauces. He tended to leave before the french were done. He’d rather not spend three hours at the dinner table while a bunch of people he didn’t know drank several different types of wine and spoke far too fast for him to have any hope of translating.

Romy and Jeanie thought his behavior was weird. Leaving early and eating snacks intermittently during the day instead of spending hours in the evening just eating. He had to admit, it was nice to have an overabundance of food always lying around. Obviously acquiring food took more effort with his malicious father, whose neglect was often intentional, and Derek tended to forget that Isaac had no money and needed to eat. Thankfully, the McCalls usually managed to get together some form of takeout before nine, but this was just different. This was more food than he could ever need. Home cooked to feed a family of forty. Isaac doubted even well adjusted families had this sort of lifestyle.

“Oy! Potatoes, you’re still too scrawny,” Romy continued to force food onto him regardless. He was endeared by the effort.

“Ever considered maybe I don’t want to eat my weight in carbs?” Isaac teased her.

“Well, you Americans have always been stupid when it came to food,” Romy shrugged before putting something almost like a pot roast on his plate. Since it was french, he could guess it either contained a mollusk or veal.

“Romy, slow down, I don’t want to throw this stuff out,” Isaac said with a bemused laugh.

Romy stuck her tongue out at him.

Isaac really had gone soft over the year away from his father. He’d lost his paranoia.

There was no build up. Time did not move in slow motion. In fact, it all occurred in an instant.

Isaac felt someone reach around his chest, yank him to his feet, and Isaac just barely registered that it was David before his captor was shouting.

“Il est un loup-garou!” David waited just long enough for eyes to be drawn to his shouts before he slid a knife along Isaac’s throat. There was a scream from a voice unknown as blood came pouring down his shirt.

This did not concern Isaac. What concerned him was the wound stitching itself shut slowly but surely. Isaac tried to cover the wound even as the flow of blood quite obviously stopped. There was a moment of silence as the many hunters around him registered that the skin had smoothed over. Unmarred.

Far more screaming occurred after this, but Isaac was far more panicked by the soft sound of far too many guns being armed. Isaac felt himself being forced onto the floor with a yelp as a few shots rang out above. Isaac hit the ground hard and felt a terrible burning pain in his right shoulder. His first instinct was to fight off whoever was on top of him. Until his somewhat dazed mind registered that whoever it was, had pressed their body against his, arms spread, _shielding_ him from the same shots that he had been tackled away from. 

Isaac recognized him first by smell before he could make out the face of his rescuer. Thin body. Thinner face. Dusty blond hair and pale eyes far more focused than he had ever seen them before. It was _Leo_. Leo the passive, always loyal to David, and always trying to avoid voicing his own thoughts. He had immediately thrown himself over the table and brought Isaac to the ground. Isaac heard footsteps approaching the pair and Leo pulled him to his unsteady feet, keeping his body in front of Isaac’s, backing as quickly as he dared towards the door. Isaac stumbled behind him, vaguely aware of blood trailing down his arm.

Distorted orders in French overlapped, there was still some hysterical shouts, but no more shots were fired. Not with one of their own between them and the enemy.

“Don’t! Don’t shoot! Ne tirez pas, ne tirez pas!” A voice that sounded far more terrified than Isaac could remember shouted over the chaos. It was Chris. Isaac felt marginally safer.

The hunters only hesitated. One shouted for Leo to get out of the way. Another suggested shooting right through him. One more shot was fired, causing both Isaac and Leo to cower away.

“Si un autre coup va, je vais te tuer moi-même,” a voice rang out over the crowd. Valerie Argent. Despite her having not shouted the words desperately as Chris had, they brought silence. “Déposez vos armes.” Another order was called and Isaac heard the clatter of dozens of weapons being placed on a table or the floor. Isaac dared to look over Leo’s shoulder. Hunter had turned on hunter. The most formidable of them, the Sisters and their husbands, had guns pointed at anyone who still dared resist. It was a surreal and somewhat terrifying sight. Women and men he had never spoken to now had guns on their family members to protect him.

Gabriel, Valerie’s quiet, polite husband, had surprised him almost as much as Leo. Gabriel had his son pinned to the table, having forced the knife from his hands. David actually looked afraid. Not at all in the way Isaac had feared his father, but more so a state of shame. Knowing his father’s rage was justified. Gabriel’s calm composure had turned to one of anger. Isaac understood why Valerie, leader of the Argents, had married someone like Gabriel. He was calm only when necessary, but he was still a hunter. One with the prowess to have a leader’s respect and love.

Louise had a gun out in his defense as well. She looked no more reluctant than any of his other allies. For that Isaac was grateful.

Valerie Argent had climbed onto a table. There, she stood over her family with a ferocity that made Isaac think that you did not have to be a wolf to be an alpha. 

“Si quelqu'un bouge contre lui, ils bougent contre moi et la famille,” Valérie said something that led to outraged shouts from her people.

Isaac saw a glint of silver. Leo shoved him back, Isaac dragged him along to safety, but no bullet went off. A body hit the floor. Louise had tackled her charge to the ground before he could get a shot.

“Chris! Get your boy out of here,” Valerie called to her cousin.

Chris ran to Isaac, supporting him with his good arm. The shock was starting to fade and Isaac realized he could not feel his right arm past his shoulder, which was burning painfully. They left Leo behind.

“Come on, son,” Chris muttered. He didn’t sound angry, at least. Chris did not take him upstairs to where the Argents had their infirmary. He took him to the garage, laying him on the back seat of one of their vehicles. “Isaac, you still with me?” He shook him.

“Fine… just hurts. Can’t feel…” Isaac nodded down at his wounded arm. The burning was spreading, and he had not stopped bleeding. That was all he was aware of.

“Keep pressure on it, Isaac. And you got to stay awake,” Chris had torn a strip of fabric from his shirt and had tied it tightly around his shoulder. Isaac hadn’t noticed. Chris guided his functioning hand to the wound. “Keep pressure, Isaac.”

Isaac tried to focus, but the poison was spreading and making him weak. He pressed down into the fabric.

Chris hurried to the drivers seat, Isaac winced as the motion of the car jostled his wounded body.

“Isaac, keep talking to me. Can’t go passing out on me, got it?” Chris called back to him.

“Talk about what?” Isaac slurred.

Chris paused. Isaac knew he wanted to ask how this had happened. “How’s your French going, Isaac?”

“Loin... d'être bon,” Isaac muttered out ‘far from good’.

Chris let out a somewhat forced laugh. “You’re not half bad, kid.” Isaac didn’t respond. “Isaac?” Chris’s next words came out sharp.

“Still kicking,” Isaac groaned.

“Keep talking.”

“I’m sorry, Chris,” Isaac said, his speech still slurred.

“Don’t worry about it, just keep telling me you’re alive.”

“Not that. I should’ve… I did some stupid shit… I didn’t tell you about it…” Isaac mumbled.

“It’s okay, Isaac. We can talk about this later,” Chris said. His words seemed stiff and sharp.

“No… you lost one kid… don’t want you to think it’s your fault...” Isaac said.

“I don’t think that, Isaac,” Chris told him. Isaac felt guilt overtake him at the right implication. This was Isaac’s fault. He had taken risks and, just as Chris had warned, others had to clean up the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was wild.  
> Also, I didn't put a little explanation after the french dialogue because Isaac couldn't understand what they were saying (and Romy wasn't there to translate) So if anyones curious:  
> Il est un loup-garou = he's a werewolf (this one is self explanatory. David has no subtlety)  
> Ne tirez pas = don't shoot (this one was obvious, Chris says it in english right before, but thought I'd put it anyways)  
>  Si un autre coup va, je vais te tuer moi-même = if another shot goes off, I'll kill you myself (Valerie's first line here, followed by...)  
> Déposez vos armes = lower your weapons (and later...)  
> Si quelqu'un bouge contre lui, ils bougent contre moi et la famille = if someone moves against him, they move against me and the family
> 
> This was, as always, mostly the work of google translate. So. It isn't meant to be Authentic, just translatable.  
> Hope yalls like where this is going ;)


	16. Chapter 16

“Where’re we going?” Isaac asked.

“An outpost. Not far. There I can patch you up, okay?” Chris told him.

“As if… you guys have something to _fix_ werewolves…” Isaac muttered.

Chris let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “You’d be surprised. Although, probably not what you’re expecting.”

“That’s not ominous or anything,” Isaac said.

“We’re out of the city, Isaac. Not much longer,” Chris told him. “How’re you holding up?”

Isaac thought for a moment. The pain had spread. Having encompassed his wounded arm - he still could not feel his fingertips - it now had begun to burn into his chest and even creep up his neck, where he could feel his own pulse vividly.

“Doing okay,” Isaac told him. It was nonfatal until it reached his heart, right? Isaac let out a gasp as the road grew more rugged and his body was jostled.

“We’re close, son,” Chris tried to calm him as Isaac’s breathing grew more ragged.

“We’re just going to the nearest country home and hoping they don’t follow?” Isaac inquired.

“They won’t. Valerie won’t let them leave the house,” Chris told him.

“And she’ll be able to stop the whole family?”

“If not her, the Sisters definitely can.”

Chris stopped the car. The light outside had dimmed and Isaac looked up blearily and saw that wherever they were had treecover. Chris opened the back door and pulled Isaac’s good arm around him. They had just started moving towards a quaint little cabin when Isaac’s legs buckled beneath him with a yelp.

“I got you, son, it’s okay,” Chris spoke calmly but it seemed to be covering his own anxiety as well. Chris lifted Isaac completely, bridal style.

“Well this is undignifying,” Isaac muttered, feeling Chris laugh as he was so close to the man’s chest. The house they were approaching looked like a normal family’s summer home. A canoe was hanging above a shack and fishing poles were placed carefully along its side. It was a charming facade.

Chris went to the door, where a combination lock was set. He evidently knew the code and managed to take the bolt off the door without dropping his charge. Isaac let out another cry of pain, this time because he felt as if his body had just hit a barrier of something… not quite natural.

“Shit. Sorry, it’s an ash line,” Chris quickly kicked away the dust. Isaac felt the barrier lift and Chris carried him over the threshold. The house was dark, with only a few single bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The interior showed a one room cabin with a fireplace and an old bed. Chris moved past it to a closet whose door was hanging off the hinges.

“I’m gonna put you down, Isaac,” Chris told him before laying him on the bed. A cloud of dust followed.

Chris returned to the closet, there Isaac heard Chris shifting around something. When Chris picked him up again, the back panel of the closet had been removed and low stone steps led to clean white tile. There, Chris turned on the lights which illuminated a more modern room.

Here Isaac’s stomach turned. A cell of panelled glass was at the back, there chains hung from the ceiling, exposed wiring wrapping around them. Metal tables were laid outside of it with shackles on either side. Isaac wasn’t sure if it looked more like a morgue or surgical table. The back wall had very old units to control the electricity. That was what comforted him. This room seemed to be in disuse and the technology was from the ‘80s. All that seemed to have been touched within the last decade was a row of weapons to the left of the door.

“Didn’t want to scare you, but I _did_ say it might surprise you,” Chris said a little quietly. Then he laid Isaac on one of the tables.

“I’m not surprised,” Isaac told him a little harshly.  
“We can take care of the poison, okay?” Chris told him, moving to the cabinets which had mason jars of strange herbs.

“Yeah, ‘cause your people would patch ‘em up just to torture them…” Isaac muttered ruefully.

“Keep complaining. Because this is gonna hurt,” Chris laid out several jars but did not remove any of the contents. Instead, he had a pair of thin surgical pliers.

“Goddamnit,” Isaac sighed. He did not have the chance to get another word out as he could only scream as Chris worked quickly to dig the bullet out of his shoulder. Only because of the poison - and Isaac’s ability to heal - did Chris dig out the bullet. You would never do this to a human body.  
Isaac could feel the metal drag against his unhealing skin sharply. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Almost there, son,” Chris told him through gritted teeth. Eventually, the digging let up. The bullet, still slick with blood and poison, was tossed aside. Chris began to pull a powder from one of the jars, moving to force it into the wound.

“Whoa, whoa, that smells like… smells like wolfsbane,” Isaac tried to pull away.

“Think of it like snake venom. You need it to make the antidote,” Chris spoke calmly and gave no warning as he pushed the salve into the wound. Isaac cried out, but noticed that in that place the burning turned to a dull ache. “Thought you knew this, Isaac. Didn’t Derek have to patch you up after you escaped the alpha pack?”

“Wasn’t conscious,” Isaac told him. Chris was setting up an I.V. “And I really don’t remember what happened then. Especially when I was with the alpha pack,” Isaac glanced around the room at the hunter’s torture chamber, having a feeling the bank wasn’t far off. “I don’t want to remember,” he admitted. It was hard enough to have that nightmarish, vague recollection of Erica’s rotting corpse.

“Fair enough,” Chris put the needle into Isaac’s bad arm. There, he connected a second needle which began to take blood from him. “Got to try and clear out the poison. Don’t worry, I won’t bleed you dry.”

“Comforting,” Isaac told him. He hadn’t even felt the needles go in. Isaac was more concerned that the I.V was wrapped in a metal chord. The end of it having a cuff as well as a needle. Obviously, Chris didn’t use it just like he hadn’t tied Isaac to the table. Both were functions of a different time. He didn’t like to imagine the state that the last person to use this I.V. was in. Or what had later happened to them.

“Update me. Is the burning still spreading?” Chris asked.

“No, but… I can’t feel my arm,” Isaac told him, he lifted his head, staring down and tried to move his fingers. Nothing.

“Bullet tore through a lot of tendons. You probably won’t be able to do much until we clear it out enough to heal,” Chris told him.

Isaac winced at the sharp sound of a metal chair being dragged on the tile. Chris sat next to him, trying to occupy himself with checking the medication.

“Am I… am I gonna have to go back?” Isaac asked. “To Beacon Hills?” Isaac was asking like that was a possibility, intending to find out Chris’s intentions, and to run for it if he said yes.

“No,” Chris said. “I can’t make you go back. I mean, I could. But not in good conscience. Although if the Argent house really isn’t safe for you…” Chris seemed to be warring between speaking in his own head. “The safehouse. That your emissary friend offered.”

“Friend…” Isaac scoffed. “He’s my therapist. Although if our relationship does get that complicated, I’ll have to find another one.” Isaac tried to sit up, before falling back with a gasp.

“Just lie low, kid. Give yourself some time,” Chris told him.

Isaac sighed, bothering instead to stare around the room again. Isaac felt sick staring at that cell. If this family had their way with him, that was where he was destined to end up. If not dead, strung up in a basement. He would prefer to never have that happen again. The room smelled of bleach and dust. Isaac knew this world and its darkness well enough to know bleach was usually used to cover something else up.

“Was… was Gerard’s sister in charge when this place was used?” Isaac asked.

Chris frowned, thinking. “I believe so. I was a teenager, then. Spent most of my time in the States or Canada. But most of these outposts fell into disuse in the ‘80s. They’re here still if someone needs to resupply or hide out.”

“And before? What were they used for?” Isaac pushed.

“Look, Isaac, you don’t need to hear about our dark family history-”

“Maybe I do,” Isaac said sharply. “They-they- were kept here. People. Werewolves - whatever. And when I went on that hunt, if you can even call it that, the pack that they were fine with attacking was a family. It was kids and aunts and uncles and… it wasn’t like the alpha pack. Or the kanima or anything else,” Isaac felt oddly disgusted. “Who was kept down here? Why?”

Chris said nothing. He seemed to be thinking carefully. “There are almost no werewolves in the North of France, they pass through, yes, but never keep permanent residence,” he started off. “Until, say, fifteen, twenty years ago that wasn’t true. This is the homeland of the most powerful hunting family in Europe and do you really expect them to do that, to keep that status, if they let werewolves infect their country?”

“Infect…” Isaac scoffed.

“To these people, werewolves are an infestation, Isaac,” Chris said firmly. “We know better and Valerie is trying to teach them, but for years the Argents fought tooth and nail to fight off packs that wanted to eliminate our threat.”

“You call that a fight… an extermination more like-”

“It was a war, Isaac,” Chris said sharply. “Not a good one. Not a fair one. But a war. Wars have prisoners. Prisoners have information. And both sides needed that. So…”

“So your family abducted people and tortured them,” Isaac said coldly.

“Yes,” Chris did not even contest. “They did and I can’t say every time they did it was right, but that’s why we need to make this family do better.”

Isaac could not protest. Chris wasn’t responsible for whatever happened here and he wasn’t trying to cover up what had happened. “Did…” Isaac’s mouth felt dry. “Did you guys ever take kids?” Chris was silent.

Isaac continued. “I know we’re not really kids, but Gerard… your dad held Erica and Boyd hostage. He hurt them and he didn’t care that they were seventeen. I told Simon on the hunt that the people in the cellar were mostly kids. Not fighters. And… and he didn’t really answer me on what he planned to do. I don’t know what they would’ve done if I hadn’t said something or if I hadn’t begged them to leave.” Isaac felt protective of them. Any kid who didn’t deserve to have trauma loaded onto them as it had been to him. God, what was he becoming, patron saint of abused youth?

“Gerard was an extremist,” Chris told him. “I’d like to think that my family here never got that far but, honestly, I don’t know for sure.”

Isaac nodded, having expected as much.

“Still hurts?” Chris moved to a different subject.

The right side of Isaac’s body still throbbed painfully despite the burning having waned. “A bit,” Isaac said. “But I think it’s healing,” he could move his hand and the bullet hole had shrunk in size.

“Good,” Chris stood, getting a roll of gauze from the cabinets and taking out the I.V.s. “We’ll spend the night here. Upstairs. And then wait for Valerie to call. If she doesn’t by the end of the night…” Chris was quiet for a moment. “We keep moving. Do you think you can get up? I think we’d both rather be… not down here.”

“Yeah,” Isaac moved to sit up, only to collapse back down with a cry of pain.

“You said it didn’t hurt much,” Chris scolded him.

“I… have a high pain tolerance…” Isaac told him, breathing a little heavily.

“Sure you do, werewolf,” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Not from that,” Isaac said.

Chris actually seemed to squirm at this, uncomfortable with Isaac’s bluntness. “You talk about that stuff, casually too, quite a bit.”

Isaac shrugged, staring up at the cracked plaster above him. “Call it coping.”

“I’ll find something to numb the pain,” Chris returned to the cabinets. There he rummaged for a far longer time than he had before.

“Chris?” Isaac called out after several minutes of the same sounds of rustling through cabinets. Isaac heard a cabinet slam and couldn’t help but flinch.

“Goddamnit,” Chris muttered.

“What?”

“No… nothing for pain. No painkillers. Just the… just the stuff to let you heal,” Chris sounded… not angry. More ashamed. “You’re more right about us than I’d like for you to be.”

Isaac let out a very harsh laugh. “Don’t need painkillers if you’re gonna torture someone. Just need them alive…”

“There’s… there’s aspirin for the hunters. There’s even morphine but that stuff doesn’t work on you people. Not untampered with,” Chris sighed. “I’m no chemist, say I even wanted to try using some of the wolfsbane to make it work…”

“You’d probably kill me.”

“Best not.”

“Can you just… help me get upstairs? Basements freak me out even when they’re not werewolf dungeons,” Isaac asked, trying once again to sit up. He could manage if he kept all of his weight on his left side.

Chris obliged, taking his good arm again and helping him upstairs. There, he sat Isaac in one of the wooden chairs by the fire.

“Bed is disgusting. Better not to have you suffocate inhaling dust after we took care of the bullet,” Chris stripped the blanket from the bed, getting one from the closet that had been kept sealed in a bag away from the mildew.

“It’s barely evening, I can sit up, I don’t need to be in bed,” Isaac grumbled.

“You’re in pain, Isaac. You should rest,” Chris told him.

“Ah, yes. I’ll take a nap in place of painkillers,” Isaac said sarcastically.

Chris frowned. “It is healing, right?”

“Yeah. Just slower, I guess,” Isaac sighed. His hand went to his shoulder where the wound was slowly filling out. “Who shot me? Did you see?”

“No,” Chris said almost too quickly.

“I won’t go after them, Chris. Just… curious,” Isaac shrugged.

“Honestly I’m not sure, but they’ll be dealt with. I can promise that,” Chris told him. “So will David.”

Isaac nodded, looking away from Chris, hoping to somehow avoid the oncoming conversation that way.

“How did David find out, anyways?” Chris asked. His voice was level. Calm. But there was something taut in his words.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Isaac said quietly.

“We don’t have anything better to do,” Chris went to the blinds, checking the front of the house. For what, Isaac wasn’t sure. Isaac didn’t respond. “Isaac?” Chris’s voice was far sharper now. A firmness Isaac couldn’t help but compare to his father.

“He… I don’t know for sure how he found out…” Isaac didn’t want to admit that David had definitely seen his claws come out on the hunt that Chris had explicitly told him _not_ to go on. “But he said if I stayed out of his way he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Why didn’t you come to me, Isaac?” Chris asked.

“Sure, so you and his mom could scold him, and he could sell me out even faster?” Isaac said coldly.

“We could have helped you, Isaac,” Chris sounded frustrated. “Did you really think you could handle it yourself?”

“Yes- I mean, no. I mean- I don’t know,” Isaac sighed. “How could I risk it? I just thought I could keep him quiet and get by. Safer than asking for help. Especially with him hanging this over my head.” Isaac tried to explain. “If I told anyone what he was doing, he would’ve made me pay for it.” That line felt far too familiar to him.

Chris was quiet for a moment, seeming to grow aware that in Isaac’s experience asking for help when someone was hurting or controlling him probably had harsh consequences. Chris kept on forgetting to factor in that his ward was damaged by far more than his daughter’s death. Isaac’s decision to keep it a secret was not rational, but it still made sense.

“I just… I got sick of him manipulating me and I… I snapped at him,” Isaac explained. “I probably said some shit I shouldn’t have and… he told.”

“He cut open your throat and shouted that you were a werewolf to an entire clan of hunters. ‘He told’ is an understatement,” Chris said. “You getting shot in the shoulder is positive outcome comparatively.”

“You don’t need to give me shit over this,” Isaac muttered. “I tried to deal with it myself and got the same results. Feel bad enough as is.”

“Fair enough,” Chris sighed. “But still, if you’d told us we could have prepared for this. Enough that you wouldn’t’ve gotten shot.”

Isaac let out a half laugh. “This is so stupid…” he really sounded like a teenager. “I wasn’t worried about them trying to kill me, not that much anyways. I just…” He seemed oddly embarrassed. “I didn’t want them to hate me. Romy and Jeanie, and Leo, or even that kid Max, or hell, Simon with his annoying big brother personality,” He sighed. “I didn’t want them to think I was one of the bad guys.”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that. Part of him knew that it wasn’t impossible, hell, it was even likely, that Isaac’s new friends would never accept him again. Chris wished he could just send Isaac home. Have Scott with his perfect sense of kindness and Melissa with her actually functional parenting handle this. Chris was hardly handling himself at the moment. He understood why Isaac couldn’t go back. Allison would always be in Beacon Hills for Isaac. Chris didn’t have that luxury. Allison followed him everywhere. Even in the Argent house he was only reminded of Allison’s summer in France a few years ago. Even without the physical place tying her to him, his daughter was always there. And he would never stop waiting for her to come around the corner.

Parents are not meant to outlive their children.


	17. Chapter 17

“Yes,” Chris was on the phone when Isaac woke. “Yes. I know. Well, I trust your judgement.” A pause where he listened to the other end. “No. He’s… well. Fine. Considering.”

Isaac focused his hearing to the other end of the line. French. Valerie, he thought. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Chris frowned, pacing by the old wood burning stove. “So soon?” Another reply in French. “I can do that.” He sighed. “Is anyone… is anyone gone?” Isaac heard a ‘oui’ from the other end. Isaac’s anxiety spiked. Had more bullets been exchanged? Or had some of their ranks left the family in a rage or - perhaps even worse - had someone been forced to leave.

“Thank you, Valerie. We’ll be back soon,” Chris told her.

Chris turned to his charge, curled on the dusty bed. The man had insisted Isaac take the bed. Claiming he should stay on watch instead. ‘Just in case’.

“Awake, are you?”

“Apparently.”

The flicker of a smile came to Chris’s lips. “Still a smartass, I see.”

“So, we’re going back?” Isaac asked. No point in hiding he was listening.

“Yeah,” Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “If you’re up to it,” he said quickly. “We could stay here a few more days. Or crash in a motel.”

“Better to get it over with,” Isaac muttered.

Chris seemed to soften. “That’s what Valerie said.” Then he grew more serious. “Are you really ready, Isaac? Or are you just trying to tough it out?”

“Does it matter?” Isaac sighed.

Chris couldn’t give him a better answer. He also didn’t allow him to move until he had removed the bandages and confirmed that the bullet hole had sealed over. As well as carefully checking his pulse, stating that internal injuries might only show in an irregular heartbeat. After confirming Isaac was medically sound, he allowed him to get up and get ready.

His shoulder felt sore, the skin and muscles taut, almost like after a bad lacrosse practice. Still, he could feel his fingertips and was no longer burning horribly. That was a win. Chris automatically moved to help him when he stood, Isaac waved him off irritatedly.

Isaac pulled on his shirt from the day before. It was soaked on its right side in blood, now hardened and stiff in some places, cold and damp in others.

“Maybe there’s clean clothes…?” Chris noted his disgust.

“Let’s just get back,” Isaac said dismissively.

Chris was silent, noting Isaac was definitely not a morning person. Especially with all this anxiety over what waited at home. Chris handed him a sweatshirt, him now only in a t-shirt.

“Just in case someone sees you before we’re back. Civilians don’t take so kindly to blood,” Chris said.

Muttering something incoherable, Isaac pulled on the sweatshirt. His long limbs filled out the sleeves, but his lanky frame left the collar slipping off his shoulders. It was Chris’s. He could tell by the scent. It was… nice. Like Beacon Hills, but not.

Chris replaced the line of mountain ash once they were outside and padlocked the door.

Isaac sunk down in the passenger seat, feeling anxious.

“What’d they do to David?” He asked as they entered Paris traffic.

“He is, for now at least, no longer a hunter,” Chris told him.

Isaac sat up. “What do you mean, you guys ship him off to boarding school or something?”

“Not yet,” Chris said. “As of, he is not allowed to train, go on hunts, or go anywhere near you.” Chris seemed angry with his nephew. “If he does something like that again, there will be worse consequences.”

“Deserves it for pulling a knife on me,” Isaac muttered.

“I was more concerned with him telling everyone,” Chris sighed. “He did so, utterly convinced it would get you killed. Surprised he didn’t succeed, honestly. I’d call it attempted murder at best.”

“And… you’re fine with us going back?” Isaac asked, somewhat disconcerted.

“Both myself and Valerie will be careful to protect you,” Chris said firmly.

“Oh god, am I gonna have a babysitter now?” Isaac groaned.

Chris seemed to struggle with something internally, “no. Not really. Just, when you’re not at school or somewhere public, someone will be nearby to keep an eye on you.”

“So. A babysitter. Great,” Isaac sighed. “And, what, you guys think at school or on the streets your people won’t have the guts to shoot me?”

“It’s not about guts. An Argent hunter would never be so stupid,” Chris said stuffily.

“David isn’t a great testament to that,” Isaac said pointedly.

“Which is why he isn’t allowed near a gun,” Chris said. “Or begin training with them again. Not for a few years, at least.” A few years. This would not be without backlash.

“It’s a good thing I can smell wolfsbane. I have a feeling he wouldn’t mind poisoning my cheerios,” Isaac said.

“Isaac, if he says something to you, makes a move against you, you tell me, got it?” Chris said sharply.

Isaac nodded reluctantly as they pulled into the Argent garage.

When they entered the house, Isaac felt Chris’s hand on his back, guiding him and offering some semblance of support. Isaac wasn’t sure if he appreciated it or if it was only feeding his nerves.

The house was quiet when they arrived. Probably because it was 9 am on a tuesday. Everyone was at school or work. Except for the retired hunters. You know, the ones most likely to harbor a prejudice which wants him dead.

The courtyard was empty. Not even the youngest children were outside. Isaac knew he was just paranoid. That was normal for this time of day. Chris walked with him upstairs to their neighboring bedrooms. He did not return to his own room and instead leaned against the wall outside Isaac’s room.

“You don’t need to… I’m gonna go shower if you want to go get something to eat…” Isaac knew it was futile. Chris was not trusting enough to leave him alone yet.

Isaac shut his bedroom door, taking a moment to look around cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A bomb to be planted under his pillow? All of his things seemed untouched. He entered the bathroom, shutting and locking that door as well. Only then did he peel of the sweatshirt and blood crusted shirt beneath that. It was definitely not salvageable. Besides the bloodstains, there was a bullet hole in it. This was the only evidence he had of his injuries.  
He threw it away, determined to not think about it and instead turned on the hot water. Dried blood clung to both his chest and right arm. His hand went to his throat. There, David had cut into it with a poisoned blade not too long ago and, more recently, had slit it with an ordinary one. The blood that had poured down his chest for only a moment was all that was left of it. Maybe these people would be more accepting of him if his body came with scars.

His old scars… from before he had turned... Those hadn’t disappeared quite so easily. Removing those had… had taken work. A detail he would keep compartmentalized for later. Isaac’s hand went to the smooth skin on his shoulder. Another traumatic event to be dealt with later. Still, Isaac was relieved to be clean.

Chris was still outside when Isaac returned.

“Come on, Isaac. We should get something to eat,” Chris nodded downstairs. Isaac trailed behind him moodily.

They entered the dining hall. It was quiet except for two older men having a late breakfast and a woman clearing away dishes. The men’s conversation went quiet upon their arrival.

Isaac sat down as far away from the others as he could, grabbing an apple. He felt… observed. To put it lightly. He tucked a knee up into his chest and watched as the two men quickly left. Definitely due to his arrival. Chris gave a nod to the woman washing up, grabbed coffee, and left. Great. He’d switched watch and dumped him with this woman. Isaac wanted to leave. To just go walking around Paris and avoid this house while he still could. The only people he had a chance of trusting were at school until lunch.

Isaac got up to leave soon after. The woman followed him quickly.

“You cannot go alone,” she said in thick english.

“I’m going out. Not in the house, like, in the city. I’ll be around normal people,” Isaac told her, a little disgruntled by this random woman talking to him.

“Alright. You come home, you find someone, okay?” She said firmly.

“Okay,” Isaac said, quick to leave her. “Christ, I wish they’d just let me get shot instead…” He muttered as he entered the streets and was out of earshot.

Isaac hated crowds. He also hated being watched or even threatened. There was no winning in this situation. Paris or the house, he would be mildly uncomfortable. Arguably, Paris came with less probability of fatalities. He walked fast, head down, shouldering through crowds, ignoring the occasional indignant french as he collided with strangers but didn’t stop. Beacon Hills had been so blissfully empty. For a time. It had been far too crowded in the end, just in a different way.

Eventually he took the first side street that let out somewhere quieter. It was a less high end residential neighborhood. The buildings were aged here, not in the ancient way of Europe, but in the classic state of urban decay. It was deserted except for a dog walker who had just disappeared around the corner and a woman on her tiny porch. Cigarette in hand, phone in the other.

Isaac kept walking.

He turned to the nearest side street once again. The next alleyway reeked of garbage and was fenced off to one side. He left to the deserted street. Isaac finally stopped. He wasn’t sure what he’d been running from, but from his frayed nerves, he was still paranoid. What, did he think an Argent was tailing him, or god, some petty mugger? Isaac was alone, as far as he could tell. Isaac leaned on the brick wall lining the street. Why did his mind wander back to his father? If anyone were to come around the corner it wouldn’t be a man with a belt who broke plates and threw him downstairs, it would be a stranger with a gun or knife.

Maybe it was because, if not for the lack of rain or night, he might as well be in that alleyway again. Then, with only a vague awareness that his father wasn’t following him anymore and something was more wrong than usual. Strange sounds. Blood on the car door...

Isaac had told that woman he would be untouchable. In crowded streets where hunters couldn’t raise a hand against him. Yet at the first opportunity he had found the most deserted street possible to, what, fend off a panic attack?

He wasn’t afraid of getting shot. Not really. It was just the tension of being stalked by hunters all the while. Like treading lightly all day, just waiting for his father to hit him. The disturbing relief he felt when Scott threw him into a wall because at least it was over.

Isaac heard footsteps and shot to attention, taking all his focus to keep his eyes blue instead of amber. The man who came around the corner looked just as startled by him. The man walked on quickly past him, seeming a bit disturbed. Isaac relaxed.

“Christ, Lahey, you’re losing it,” Isaac muttered, hands running through his hair almost viciously.

Isaac kept walking.

Eventually, with some significant willpower, he found his way back to the Argent’s door. There, Gabriel was with some of the little ones in the courtyard. Upon Isaac’s arrival, the man gave him a quick nod. Something like solidarity. Really, Isaac just knew Gabriel was babysitting him now as much as the toddlers.  
This new strategy of theirs, to give him a guard every hour of the day. It would not stop him from being killed - that was a fact, one hunter could not prevent a stray bullet or coup. All it did was ensure that his murderer was witnessed and persecuted. Apparently that was enough insurance to deter action. That did not ease Isaac’s mind.

Isaac heard them before he saw them. Familiar voices. He made out Jeanie first. Leo replied. Isaac assumed, or at least hoped, that Romy was with them. He turned to face the gate into the courtyard, not even caring how pathetic he looked. Waiting on them like a lost dog.

Leo and Jeanie stopped talking immediately. Isaac could only assume they were talking about him. Romy followed them, looking up at the silence and Isaac understood everything he needed to in the moment of eye contact they shared.

Romy had placed a wall between them. Her eyes had gone cold and Isaac could not even tell if it was animosity or distrust or some unforgiving mix of both. She looked away first, walking past Leo and Jeanie, away from him, and inside.

Isaac hadn’t even realized that what he had been craving, after wandering in a lost state, was some form of reassurance.

To be met with such a loss, for something that he tried to believe wasn’t his fault, it was the final crack in the dam that had been holding him together. Isaac returned to Jeanie and Leo, looking to them for something, _anything_.

Jeanie hesitated, giving a nod not unlike her Uncle Gabriel’s, before following her cousin inside. Isaac couldn’t blame her for that. Loyalty had to lie where it should. And Isaac wasn’t sure what to expect from Leo, who looked just as miserably confused as Isaac felt.

Still, Isaac found himself approaching Leo. Not for companionship or something to restore the grief he was struck with once again, but out of a sense of duty.

Leo almost looked frightened at his approach.

“Look, you don’t have to talk to me,” Isaac started quickly. “But… I owe you a thanks. I’m not expecting you to explain why or anything, just know I’m grateful for what you did.” Isaac wanted to ask so much more of the only one left standing here. Where was David? Why, _why_ had Leo protected him? And most importantly, would Romy ever come back to him?


	18. Chapter 18

Isaac could not see the faces missing from the dinner table, and not just because he refused to linger. Isaac did not know this family well enough to decide who had left and who had stayed by appearance alone, but he had learned to read tension well enough to tell which empty seats had weight. For that his attempts to avoid eye contact with his housemates had increased drastically. Isaac told himself that there was no reason for him to be ashamed of other people’s prejudice.

That didn’t make it any less difficult.

Isaac had also tried very hard to cancel his next appointment with Dr. Bhatt. Claiming he just needed time to himself. Of course that lie did not fall well with Chris, who seemed to detect how Isaac feared a reaction from his therapist over what had occurred.

“If he really is a professional, he’ll help you, not argue with you,” Chris sighed. “Like you’re arguing with me now,” he said pointedly.

Isaac reluctantly agreed.

“Isaac,” Bhatt noticed something was off the moment he entered the office. Concern clouded his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Isaac opened his mouth to speak, and instead only let out a huff, shaking his head slightly.

“Take all the time you need.”

Isaac sighed, leaning back on the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. “You’re not making this any easier,” Dr. Bhatt’s compassion was only fueling his guilt.

“Tell me how I can, then,” Bhatt said. “What’d you do? I’ve heard it all, I promise. Drugs, self harm, got a girl knocked up, assault charges, even suicide attempts they hid from their families. You name it.”

“Fine, then,” Isaac sat up, his hands still wringing and fidgeting without his awareness. “I got myself shot. I mean, I also got my throat slit but that’s less of an issue. And more importantly- it’s out. The Argents know what I am.” The moment of silence, despite not being all that long, left him unsure. “Still, not dead, am I?” He said with a nervous laugh.

Isaac could see the restraint Bhatt had on his own emotions. Some sort of negativity, anger or fear, flickered for a moment and died behind composure.

Still, the man took a moment to compose his speech. “First off: are you safe? Did Chris and his cousin live up to their promises?”

“Yes,” Isaac said immediately. “Chris got me out of there and Valerie talked them down,” he reassured. “A lot of them aren’t happy with me, but Valerie’s good at what she does. They don’t bother me. Not directly anyways.”

Bhatt obviously wanted to question his security more, but bit it back for the more immediate focus. “And indirectly?”

“If they could kill me with a glare, I’d be dead a dozen times over,” Isaac told him. “But I don’t care what some bitchy old hunter thinks, I care about the people I actually _like_.”

“Romy and Jeanie,” Bhatt said quietly. “I’m assuming the young hunters didn’t take to you with open arms.”

Isaac felt the urge to cry. It hit him quite suddenly and, compared to the amount of shit he had been through, should not have been caused by Bhatt’s statements.

“I, uh,” Isaac forced a cough as his voice grew constricted. He did not take well to rejection. That much had always been clear. And his eyes would not stop fucking watering. “Fuck…”

“Did you not hear the part where I’ve had people vent to me about assault charges? Crying is the most natural thing I deal with,” Bhatt called him out immediately. “Come on, Isaac. You’re not doing heroin- you’re crying, for christ’s sake. How about you try and at least let it happen?”

“God, doc. Don’t pull any punches, do you?” Isaac wiped his eyes, at least steady now. “They, uh, they don’t talk to me. Either of them. Jeanie doesn’t seem to hate me but she’d rather stand by Romy right now and I can’t blame her for it, but it still sucks. And Romy… she can’t even look at me. I didn’t think she would be the one to really hate me. Not this much, at least.”

“I don’t know this Romy, but I wouldn’t jump right to saying she ‘hates’ you. Things like this are complex. Her family has taught her one reality, and dealing with a contradiction to that may take time to process,” Bhatt reasoned.

“Be a lot easier if she told me that before she worked on sorting out her reality…” Isaac muttered.

“And your other friends?”

Isaac was on edge as is and this conversation was not helping. Naturally, he diverted it towards something easier to talk about. Violence committed against him. “Look, shouldn’t I tell you how all of this happened?”

Bhatt frowned slightly, not at all missing Isaac’s topic shift, “alright. How did this all happen?”

Isaac then hesitated. How painful would it be to go all the way back and admit David had been blackmailing him for weeks? Bhatt had been honest with him. He could at least do the same.

“It started a little while back. After I went on that hunt,” Isaac glanced up, expecting Bhatt to chastise him again for doing something so dangerous considering the result. He didn’t. “David… don’t know if I’ve talked much about him…?”

“He’s the leader’s, Valerie’s boy. And, as you told me, ‘a total dick’,” Bhatt said, a smile flickering for a moment.

“Yeah, him,” Isaac relaxed into the slight humor. It was something. Still, the story must continue. “He saw something on the hunt. Me defending myself, not acting human enough,” Isaac’s mouth felt dry. “Claws.” He hadn’t admitted that part to Chris. How could he deny it was his fault he got found out if Chris knew that his fucking _claws_ had come out?

“Do you want to keep going, Isaac?” Bhatt asked after too much quiet.

“Yeah,” Isaac pushed his worries to the back of his mind. “When I got home, later that night, he threatened me. Said he’d tell everyone what I was if I didn’t stay quiet and out of his way.” Dr. Bhatt’s jaw seemed tenser now. Something only someone as hyper aware of body language as Isaac was would notice. “It wasn’t that bad,” Isaac felt the need to reassure him. “He just didn’t want me to go on hunts or train with them. Well, and I wasn’t supposed to make fun of him either.” Isaac formed a mocking french accent, “I will not be insulted by a dog in my own home.” Bhatt did not seem to find it as amusing as Isaac did. “So, after that fun little incident, I tried to stay out of his way. Probably would’ve managed fine if I just had to stay away from hunts and weapon training, but I couldn’t deal with him being a dick, to me or anyone else, and not get called out for it,” Isaac grew bitter quickly. “I am tired of people trying to walk all over me.”

“Understandable, Isaac,” Bhatt told him. “Still, it was dangerous. Why didn’t you talk to Chris? To anyone?”

Isaac grew irritated. “Can I just finish?”

Bhatt nodded curtly.

“I didn’t train with them exactly, but I sparred with Jeanie and Romy. Guess that was enough to count,” Isaac explained. “And I… I did insult him. But only because he wouldn’t stop insulting me every chance he got.” Isaac realized how childish it sounded now.

“And he, what, told an adult or…?”

Isaac laughed harshly, “did a lot more than that.” Isaac’s hand went to his shoulder. “Announced it at the dinner table. Proved it by cutting into my throat again.”

Bhatt interrupted again, “again?”

Isaac felt his uneasy shame rise. “Yeah, uh. When he first told me off, he pulled a knife on me. Not the plain swiss army knife he had when he told them, one that could actually do something. I could smell it when he held it up to my throat. It had wolfsbane on it.”

“God, Isaac,” Bhatt began to rub his forehead, looking exhausted. “He cut into your throat with a wolfsbane knife and you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

“Yeah, I thought to tell someone,” Isaac said sharply. “Great way to die faster,” the mentality had stayed the same to Isaac for as many years as he could remember. Only the reasons had changed. You tried to get help. You died. Locked in a freezer or with a bullet it didn't matter, the result was the same.   
“Eventually, either way, David didn’t like me defending myself. So he cut into my throat, told them I was a werewolf, and let them watch me heal to prove it.”

“God, Isaac. That’s horrible,” Bhatt said quietly. Someone simply saying that was oddly comforting.  
“The knife didn’t hurt as much as the bullet,” Isaac admitted. “Some hunter shot me and if it weren’t for Leo…” Isaac forced himself to keep talking rather than dwell on alternative outcomes. “He knocked me to the floor when they were shooting. Kept me covered until Chris could take me out.”

“Have you spoken to him much? Leo?”

“I thanked him. Afterwards. But Leo told me…” Isaac let out a scoffing laugh. “He told me he did it because he felt bad. Because David told him about me and Leo didn’t believe him. Said he should’ve stopped him before it got that far.” Isaac bit his lip. “Not because we’re friends. Just because it was the right thing to do.”

“And I’m sure that was…?” Bhatt left it open ended for him to answer.

“I don’t have anyone left now, doc,” Isaac said coldly. “Chris, maybe, but it’s not the same.”

“How long has it been?” Bhatt asked. “Since it came out. Since your friends went quiet.”

“Four days or so.”

“Isaac, four days is not the end of things,” Bhatt said. “Give them time. And make sure you’re looking after yourself, now.”

“Looking after myself,” Isaac scoffed.

“Isaac, you’ve been threatened, blackmailed, assaulted in the past weeks. We have hardly gotten to your grief and then this was added, Isaac,” Bhatt said. “You need to be kind to yourself right now. And talk to me, or Chris, or whoever else, if this stuff starts to do some damage.”

Isaac nodded grudgingly, allowing himself to think. “I… I’m worried about when David comes back. He’s at another house, you see. With his aunt. And they won’t let him near a weapon again, that’s not what I’m worried about, though. Not in the literal sense, at least. I basically ruined his life. He won’t train with his family, won’t graduate into a proper hunter, not for a while, at least.”

“And you think he might try and attack you again?”

Isaac hesitated. “No. I don’t think so. I just know it’s going to have… impact. I don’t care what David thinks about me. It’s what he’ll make the others think. They know he’s a dick, but he’s their family. I’ve been here a month.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to check - do you think someone might try to hurt you, Isaac?” Bhatt had to know. It was his job.

“I mean, if anyone’s going to try and kill me, it’d be David. And…” Isaac gave off an awkward laugh. “Honestly, between him and Romy I’d prefer he killed me.”  
Bhatt frowned. “I’m not condoning your logic, or your apparent comfort with this, but I’d like to follow your logic.”

“David kills me, it’s to be expected,” Isaac wrung his hands. “Romy kills me, it’s a betrayal.”

Bhatt nodded, seeming to understand. Even if he didn’t agree with it.

“Ideally, neither option occurs,” Bhatt reasoned.

“Yeah. Ideally,” Isaac agreed. “As long as it’s not Chris. He doesn’t deserve that on his conscience.” Isaac had fallen into a hypothetical wormhole.

“Let’s refocus, please,” Bhatt said. “How would you describe the toll of all this on your mental health. I can obviously assume increased anxiety and so on, but I’d like you to talk about it.”

Isaac sighed. He was supposed to talk about his emotions now, was he? Bhatt did not offer another topic.

“I don’t know why I feel guilty, but I do,” Isaac said. “About… about everything. Romy being mad at me and David getting in trouble and no one wanting to talk to me anymore. It’s pathetic. I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“You say you shouldn’t feel guilty, and I agree, but you sure do beat yourself up over it.”

“Yeah, well. Everyone else had their turn so I might as well join in,” Isaac muttered.

“What else? Have you had any panic attacks or insomnia- anything you could describe as a symptom?”

“I think I had one earlier. Got all paranoid when I was walking around the city,” Isaac rubbed the back of his neck, unable to not fidget. God, he was turning into Stiles. “Thought someone might be following me. It got a little hard to breathe.”

“Makes sense you’d be a little, as you say, paranoid. You’ve been threatened plenty as of late,” Bhatt said.

“I guess,” Isaac shrugged. “You know I had nightmares a while back. In Beacon Hills. I haven’t been sleeping well since David first threatened me, but lately I’m getting nightmares again when I actually do sleep. I haven’t had them this bad in a while,” Isaac explained. “When I first got here, and the few weeks before that, I slept too much and too deep for them. Part of the whole depression thing. And it got better when I settled in and the nightmares didn’t come back. Not nearly as bad at least, but now they come and go.”

Isaac was rambling a bit now, but those dreams were starting to scare him. “When I lived with my dad I didn’t have nightmares. I think it was because I was so busy trying to stay alive I couldn’t process it. But now they’re back and I’m _also_ paranoid. Not just one or the other. It’s like my stupid fucking head can’t decide if I’m traumatized from this or not. Or if the trauma part is even over.”

“These nightmares, what are they like?” Bhatt asked.

“Funny enough, getting shot,” Isaac said sarcastically. “Sure, there’s the classics- dad, dead friends, being locked in a freezer -all sprinkled in, but a lot of them are Romy or David or Valerie and Chris, putting a bullet in my head.” Isaac’s hands had resumed wringing and twisting in his lap. “The thing is, I don’t wake up after I get shot. It just sort of… keeps going. Someone else shoots me, someone pulls out a knife, blood starts pouring from my throat. What else…” Isaac thought back. Memories of dreams always get fuzzy around the edges. “Getting locked up in a creepy Argent basement or being hunted down. And my head tries to finish the story by throwing me back into one of the one’s with dad, which is always a shitty turn of events.”

“What does seem to wake you up?” Bhatt asked. “What… part?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac admitted. “The start and end of the dreams, and a lot in between honestly, they blur together. I just wake up, breathing hard, and my shoulder hurts. Which it _shouldn’t_ be. I _healed_.”

“Isaac, despite your abilities, being shot and cut into - particularly when you least expect it - isn’t something the mind gets over fast,” Bhatt told him. “Not to mention that threat of violence still feels very real.”

“And?”

“Figure out how to cope. That’s always the key,” Bhatt said. “What did you do with nightmares before?”

“Scott. Scott would always help me calm down and wake me up,” Isaac said, the thought making him more miserable.

“Okay, so what if you asked Chris to help you?” Bhatt pushed.

“No way,” Isaac absolutely refused. He was not asking Chris Argent to check on him in case he had a nightmare. “I’ll just… I could set an alarm or something. To maybe pull me out of it before I get that far asleep.”

“That wouldn’t be good for your sleep cycle, Isaac.”

Isaac was growing tired of talking uselessly. “I’m getting woken up anyways. I’ll deal with it. You asked me what else was happening and I told you. That’s it.”

“Fine. We’re almost out of time anyways,” Bhatt yielded. “I’m going to leave you with this: your priority is to take care of yourself. The rest will come. Friends or peace or whatever outside problems there are, let them be and focus on repairing what’s going on in your head first.” Good advice. Shame Isaac would likely ignore it.


	19. Chapter 19

Isaac’s self destructive habits persisted despite the session with Dr. Bhatt.

His attempts to ignore as many members of the Argent house did not extend to a choice few, despite them often ignoring him. 

He would see Romy in the living room, which he would go to only with the intention of looking for her or Jeanie or even Leo, as he would never feel welcome to just linger in the Argent lounge. Isaac would see her and make a pathetic and slightly needy attempt to get her to talk to him. 

“Romy, can we talk?” Isaac asked. Romy would hesitate and for a moment Isaac thought she would agree. Instead, with the slight shake of the head - and even a “not now” on a good day - she would leave quickly. Giving the obvious message that he wasn’t to follow. 

Self destructive habits. 

“Romy, please. Just let me explain,” Isaac didn’t know what he was planning on explaining, even as he had gone to practically corner her in the courtyard days after the last attempt, but she just shouldered past him without even offering a “not now”. 

Isaac clenched his fists and was quick to leave the house. They weren’t due back at the school for another hour, but he would not remain in that house. Isaac was miserable once again but he was still expected to go to school and be a functioning person. 

Isaac wasn’t sure where he was walking. It was not to Claude Monet. The only person he’d properly spoken to in the past days was Kwyn, the american girl he’d met on his first day. She was… nice. Just nice. Other than that her personality was… nope. Just nice. A little too talkative at times. And very passionate about learning french. But that seemed more to have to do with her being eager to please and wanting to impress any native speaker she met. 

Isaac had no intention of returning to the school’s green and sitting with her while she chatted away about how Madame what’s-her-face complimented her impeccable grasp of _propositions indépendantes_. What a testament to how fucking lonely he was. 

So he resumed wandering Paris and walking as if he had a goal in mind. Eventually he got tired of walking and ducked into the nearest cafe. Isaac meandered a little awkwardly to the counter with hunched shoulders. 

“Café. Noir. S'il vous plaît,” he got himself coffee, and after a pause and far too much thought paid to Romy and the lack of her presence, “et un muffin aux bleuets.” She was right. Carbs were nice. 

The girl behind the counter looked only a few years older than him. She seemed to assess him for a moment before speaking. “Sept euros.” 

Isaac handed over the €7 without much thought. The girl seemed to be staring. Isaac wondered if his discontent was that obvious. Her brown eyes watched him as she slid over the coffee and muffin. 

“Thanks-Merci,” Isaac corrected himself. 

A smirk twitched on her face before leaving him for the next customer. Isaac was a little uneasy from her attention. Not to mention she was pretty. In a young Nichelle Nichols sort of way, (what? His brother liked star trek) and Isaac never did do well under the gaze of pretty girls. He aimed for a table tucked away in the corner. There he kept his eyes on his phone while he drank his coffee, hoping to avoid more attention. 

Class was going to resume soon and Isaac hadn’t moved from his spot at the cafe. He kept hold of his mug to give some sense of reason for being there, but really he just wanted to be alone. He stayed there, taking up a table and draining his phone’s battery, for several hours. The barista, and none of her coworkers, asked him to leave. 

Still, he eventually ran out of excuses for lingering. No one had questioned his absence from school. Not that he should’ve expected them to. 

Isaac left the cafe and into the street in the afternoon. Class would let out soon. His phone was about to die. He refused to go home. So instead he headed down to the metro, grateful that at 4 pm it was easy to find a fairly empty car. He stared at the faded map pinned on the wall next to the ads. He only had a vague idea where this train was going. 

Isaac was on the… blue line. The dark blue one. That was about all he knew. Not that Isaac cared much. He had 15 euros in his pocket and some coins he wasn’t sure the name of. His phone was dead and he was planning on getting lost. 

Isaac was bitter and lonely and careless because of it. The fact that Chris would start to panic in a few hours when Isaac was still not home did not bother his brooding mind. 

Eventually the confinement of the metro car became too much and he got off at the next stop. Where he actually was, Isaac had no clue. In the streets people were beginning to leave work. It was a historic district. The occasional group of tourists stood and stared at buildings that looked identical to their neighbors. 

Isaac kept walking. The crowds continued to brush too close to him and Isaac thought back fondly on his bike. His dad did not let him get his license - which he didn’t have even now - so it was the only independence he had. Isaac had thought that, should it get really bad, he would bike to the sheriff’s station. Rather he had wound up in an alleyway instead and his bike was mangled by a lizard running over it. So Isaac had walked. It was much easier as a werewolf. Especially when he’d had Erica and Boyd along side him. 

Isaac eventually came across a stretch of railroad. He hesitated, staring through the fencing protecting it from the city. 

No people. And it had the added bonus of feeding into his melancholy should he find the tunnels Romy had showed him. With a less than concerned glance around him, Isaac pulled himself up over the chainlink. There he chose a direction and started walking. 

There was graffiti to occupy him and he did not need a light in the tunnels due to his less than human eyes. Most of it was useless to him as he could not read French. He must not be near the tunnels Romy had shown him as the gaps were fewer and the tunnels longer. Ivy was not able to grow as concrete or gravel tended to surround the exposed tracks. Isaac liked the unique spiked lettering of the graffiti even if he couldn’t read it and eventually noticed familiar tags of the artists throughout the tunnels. Isaac wondered how likely it was for him to meet one of them on his walk. If they had grown up and stopped painting or if it was just a rarer venture saved for certain nights. 

He also felt grateful to whatever artists decided to make images rather than words as he felt more in the loop. One that he found a little odd seemed to have used glow in the dark paint at one point but had of course faded by now. It showed a naked woman holding a severed head. It took a moment for Isaac to register that her hair was made of snakes out of faded neon green paint. The glow had faded, but the detail of the eyes - which had obviously taken brushwork rather than spray paint - radiated anger. Eyes to turn to stone for sure. Isaac could only assume that Medusa was holding the head of Perseus. It was fair, Isaac thought. In the original story and every form thereafter she was the one getting beheaded. Boyd had always had a knack for knowledge. Mythology being a particular favorite. Isaac felt a little proud that he remembered something Boyd had shared. 

The next one that stood out left him a little unnerved. 

It was on a section of wall which had been covered black and every line was a dripping white. The artist had made a grave. Or at least that’s what Isaac immediately thought of, really it was only shown to be a hole in the ground. No gravestone, but Isaac recognized the way crumbling earth looks after being punctured by an excavator. He also found familiar the image of a child clawing her way out of the hole. The eyes, wide in painted terror, stared back at him. Her mouth was open, not in a scream, rather panting for breath, and her knuckles were so violently defined, the fingers dragging into the painted earth, trying to get a grip. Beneath the earth her kicking legs were visible, a chain tied around her ankle, falling down into the black, stopping within the tugging hands of an unseen person which disappeared at the floor of the tunnel. All Isaac could see was the arms, no body painted, but he couldn’t help but project a man’s body onto the figure. A man trying to drag his little girl under the earth. 

God, Isaac needed help. He was falling and falling fast. Not into a grave, but definitely into that black abyss. Isaac felt something accusing in the child’s eyes. Something let left him more than uneasy. As if the image were somehow alive. Next to it words were painted but Isaac had no idea what they meant and he couldn’t remember seeing the artist’s tag anywhere else in the tunnel. 

_Vos enfants appartiennent à leur patrie_

Eventually it was dark enough outside that he could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Poetic. 

Isaac had no idea what time it was as his phone was dead. It was dark out, but the night crowd was thick and they weren’t drunk enough for it to be that late. Isaac also realized he was hungry. All he’d eaten in the past hours was that muffin. Still feeling reluctant, Isaac made his way back to the house. Isaac entered the empty courtyard, relieved that his lateness led to a lack of people in the halls. The dining hall was equally empty and there was no food left out so Isaac let himself into the kitchens to scrounge around. The main pantry had things for the individual members of the household to get to. Boxes of pasta, chips, cereal, canned soup. The fridge also had leftovers from the week for those who didn’t want to get their own lunch since, during the weekdays, the house didn’t serve then. 

Isaac, with whatever leftovers he could carry to his room, headed upstairs. At the top of the stairs he heard harsh conversation, Chris among them. Isaac approached cautiously. 

“Isaac!” At first Chris sounded relieved, but anger followed without another second. “Where the hell have you been?!” Isaac didn’t answer, momentarily shocked at the consequences for falling off the map all day. 

“What were you thinking?!” Chris was shouting at him. Without any notice that Valerie and another hunter who he had been talking with were right there, although now they were quick to make their leave. “You could’ve been dead, for all I knew!” 

“I-I- I didn’t-” Isaac couldn’t form a coherent sentence with Chris bearing down on him. 

“You didn’t what?! Think? You’re damn right you didn’t. After everything, after you getting shot, you thought you could just disappear and no one would care?!” Chris was an uneven balance of anger and fear that only a parent could hold onto. Isaac was too damaged to see anything besides the anger. “Do you think we protect you because it’s fun? Because we like having to spend the day watching your back against our own family?!” Chris had been stepping closer all the while until finally Isaac stepped back. 

“I’m sorry, please, don’t,” Isaac was stumbling back and only now, with Isaac flinching away from him, did Chris return to some form of sanity. 

“Isaac, you-you can’t run off like that,” Chris said. 

Isaac tried to speak, but his heart was still beating too fast and he was torn between fear and anger. Eventually he found the courage to settle on the latter. “You don’t get to fucking talk to me like that. For a lot of reasons. When I’m in this house I know I need someone to watch me. Outside of it you can’t stop me from getting away from all this bullshit!” 

Chris wanted quite obviously to scold him for arguing, fatherly instinct and all that, but he still felt a bit strange for shouting at Isaac and the reaction it caused. 

“And if protecting me is so much of a hassle, feel free to stop.” And with that, Isaac turned and left him, heading to barricade himself in his room and cope.


	20. Chapter 20

Isaac wasn’t sure how he got here. But he was sitting on the first level of the first fire escape he found when the night crowd began to clog the sidewalks. Someone had yelled at him in French for pulling himself onto the ladder. Or he was simply surprised that Isaac could jump high enough to get up there. He did not climb up to any other levels as the second story window only led into a hallway of the building so no one would wander into their living room to find a kid sitting on their fire escape.

Isaac’s phone was dead so he couldn’t even brood with music or distract himself in a wormhole on the internet. So he sat on the edge of the metal, forehead pressed into the railing, staring down at the street outside of his alleyway. 

Isaac assumed it was now some time past eleven as the streets were crowded with people going to and from bars. American couples who had pre gamed too hard and were already wasted and young locals laughing at them. Isaac wasn’t sure if he would have preferred a quiet street to one covered in bars and restaurants. At least it gave him something to stare at while he zoned out and thought over and over again on how miserable he was. 

Isaac was more than miserable. He was pissed off and he didn’t know how much longer he could contain it. Sixteen year olds were out getting drunk, quite legally, and Isaac felt vaguely jealous as he would never have the chance to, what, dull his senses and wake up the next morning feeling like shit? Isaac couldn’t imagine going out with Romy and Jeanie to get drunk. Not just because Jeanie didn’t seem like a partier. 

Isaac knew Chris was going to be pissed again. He had stayed home a few nights, but he couldn’t take staying locked up in his room anymore. Isaac had stayed out late several times in the past days and Chris was getting fed up. So of course, Chris had texted him when he didn’t come home right after school and Isaac had told him he was studying in a cafe. To get out of the house. And that night he was going to see a movie. Isaac assumed it would give him at least a few hours before Chris tried to hunt him down, which was definitely within the man’s capabilities. Isaac’s phone was dead, so now it was only a matter of time. He doubted Chris would just go to bed and just hope Isaac showed up by morning. 

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to care. It was like he was hoping for consequences. Whether it was a reflection of self hatred or Isaac hoping for something familiar, all that mattered was Isaac expected Chris’s anger. He couldn’t take being a quiet obedient little werewolf, accepting the hatred of those around him, but he couldn’t just leave either. So he acted out. Something he had been unable to do at any other point in his life and something he still feared. That was the point, it seemed. 

Isolation hurt. What hurt more was the quiet it came with and the grief that followed. Isaac had nothing to distract himself. If that distraction came in the form of Chris yelling at him, that was fine. It was another reflection of Isaac’s hatred of tension. Isaac didn’t want to walk on glass all the time. Afraid of both his old friends and their family. Better to get the punishment over with, despite the fact that it would solve nothing. 

The streets were far from quiet. People were getting drunker. A group of girls all walked in a row. Girls always seemed to move in packs at night. One of them talked loudly in french while her friend leaned on her for support. Two of the four held their heels in their hands and walked barefoot on the pavement. 

“Hé montre nous tes seins!” A male voice shouted across the street. 

The girl who was drunkenly babbling shouted back, her words slurred. 

Her friends were quick to shush her. Isaac leaned forward to see a group of equally drunk men crossing the street in their direction. 

“This is gonna be good,” Isaac muttered. 

“Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit? Putain?” A man shouted back. Isaac saw his friend stumble halfway into Isaac’s street and puked. Isaac crinkled his nose. He sort of wanted to tell the man off for messing up his alleyway but he was far more concerned by his friends leering at the girl who didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. 

One of the other idiots put his hand on another one of the girls. And not in a friendly way. She snapped at him and shoved him off but he kept getting closer, shouting angrily. 

Isaac was pissed off. And punching some creep was exactly what he was hoping for. 

The sick idiot stumbled back with a shout when Isaac dropped to the ground in front of him. Isaac ignored him and headed for the street. The three girls were shouting at the man to leave their friend alone but his own friends defended him. 

“Hey,” Isaac grabbed onto the man’s shoulder, pulling him away from the girl. The man whirled around, seeming confused as to how Isaac had gotten there. 

“Et si tu te mêles de tes affaires, bébé garçon?” The man staggered slightly as he moved to get in Isaac’s face. He reeked of alcohol. 

“You guys should just leave,” Isaac did not step back even as the man’s breath hit his face. 

Immediate laughter ensued. “Américain! oh, quel brave petit touriste,” the man sneered. 

Even the girls seemed a little put off by their apparent hero. One of the girls dragged their friend out of the fray, but one of the men stopped them from walking off. 

“Allez-vous en,” Isaac did his best and told them to go away in butchered french. It only caused more jeering. 

“Connaissez-vous ce petit garçon?” The man asked one of the girls. She spat at him. “Vous pute,” he snapped, stepping her way. Isaac grabbed onto his arm again. 

Isaac hit the wall as a punch took him by surprise. Blood gushed from his nose for about five seconds before it healed over and the cracked bone resealed. 

“C'est quoi ce bordel..?” The man stepped back, everyone seemed to freeze. 

“Yeah. That was rude,” Isaac pinched his nose as clarity returned. Whatever restraint he had had before was gone. His fist shattered the man’s nose, Isaac’s knuckles healing over as he broke them against the man’s face. 

“Bordel de merde,” the man staggered back, clutching his face as, unlike Isaac, his bleeding did not stop. “Ne reste pas là. Faire quelque chose!” He shouted at his friends. 

Another drunk moved to, Isaac assumed, try and swing a punch. Isaac caught his fist and pushed his thumb back until he heard a crack. The men began to shift nervously. 

“Putain, c'est quoi ce bordel?!” One of the girls exclaimed. 

“Motherfucker!” Isaac swore loudly. There was a knife in his side. The man responsible paled when Isaac removed the blade without flinching. 

“Oh mon dieu, que diable?!” The man stumbled back. Isaac offered his knife back to him. 

Isaac felt a blow on the back of his head and he fell to his knees, cursing even more. He drew away blood from the back of his head before a boot nailed him in the jaw. Fuck, Isaac was out of practice. 

Isaac laid on the ground for a moment, blinded by pain as blood filled his mouth before stopping. Once he healed, he stood back up fairly steadily. 

“Allons. Quelque chose ne va pas avec lui!” The man grabbed his friend by his collar and pulled him back. 

Three of the four men took off running. The fourth still stooped over in the alley, vomiting his guts up. Isaac threw the knife aside and glanced up just in time to see one of the girls pointing a bottle of mace at him. 

“Whoa, whoa whoa! Chill! I just told them off! Got my ass kicked for it too!” Isaac stumbled back, hands raised passively. 

“You-You stay away!” She snarled in unsteady english, her and her friends quick to head down the street away from him. 

“All the thanks I get…” Isaac muttered, adjusting his formerly dislocated jaw. 

Isaac was still filled with adrenaline, blood pounding in his ears and honestly wished that the men had put up a better fight. A bunch of drunk cowardly douchebags. Isaac’s anger had not died. He was so fucking lonely and bitter. Isaac turned around and slammed his fist into the brick wall, his knuckles shattering on impact. 

“Fuck!” Isaac shouted into the empty street, clutching his hand as the fragile bones healed over. “You’re a fucking idiot, Lahey!” 

His shouting attracted furtive glances from a group exiting a bar across the street. 

“Yeah, yeah! I know, I’m a fucking crazy american tourist!” Isaac shouted at them. 

Isaac stared down ruefully at his balled fists, as if they were the ones responsible for the splitting pain caused by punching a wall. Isaac’s shirt was bloodied. From his nose as well as from the moron that stabbed him. What if Isaac hadn’t been, well, a werewolf? The guy would’ve let some random teenager bleed out. Should’ve given the bastard another punch. Maybe flashed his eyes, given him a real scare. 

Isaac was exhausted. That was enough fun for one night. He turned around, guessed the general direction in which the Argent house was, and started walking. He eventually figured he was one district over. Those that passed him on the busier streets quickly moved past. 

“Avez-vous besoin d'aide, mon garçon?” A woman stopped him, her hand reaching out to block his path. 

She was obviously concerned, but Isaac had no idea what she was saying and was too annoyed to try. 

“Piss off,” Isaac muttered shouldering past. 

He couldn’t actually blame her. It must look nightmarish, a teenager walking home at midnight, face and shirt covered in blood. Isaac eventually found a familiar street, the gate of the Argent home now in sight. The outside lights were still on. At night they were usually off, they had automatic flood lights in case of an emergency, so it was a sign that he was right. Chris was definitely waiting for him. 

“This oughta be good,” Isaac sighed, entering the courtyard. 

It was empty. Isaac saw the living room lights glow into the courtyard through the pale curtains. Isaac considered sneaking up to bed. Considering the additional anger it would incur in the morning, he headed to the living room. 

“I am getting tired of waiting up for you,” Chris was alone. No other hunters having bothered to lose sleep. 

“Then don’t.” 

Chris got up from his place on the sofa. Isaac stared at the gun on the coffee table. Chris stared at Isaac’s bloodied shirt. 

“What? Is it too much to expect you’re gonna bring home trouble?” Chris told him before stashing the gun at his side. “More importantly, what did you do?” 

“What did I do? Shouldn’t it be ‘what happened to you’?” Isaac said bitterly. 

“No,” Chris walked closer. “Since you’re all healed up, it wasn’t one of us. Or a werewolf.” 

“Maybe I just got lucky,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

“Did you hurt someone?” Chris asked him. 

Isaac felt anger roil up inside of him again. “Did I _hurt_ someone? Been spending too much time with your family, have you?” 

“You’ve been acting stupid, lately, Isaac. What do you expect me to think?” Chris snapped. “This is the fourth time you’ve stayed out, and it’s the first time you’ve come home covered in blood, but how do I know what you’ve been out doing, Isaac?” 

“I’ve been staying away from here,” Isaac spat. “And fine, if you really think I’m causing trouble, I mean, I just got in a fight with some creepy douchebags.” Isaac kicked the nearest chair gloomily. 

“Elaborate.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything, I was minding my own business and these guys were catcalling some girls and one of the guys started feeling a girl up and I intervened,” Isaac told him. “Got punched. One of them pulled a knife. One of the girls almost maced me. But the guys left them alone. And yeah, I got some blood on me. But no claws, no eyes, they don’t know anything.” 

“Christ, Isaac. You can’t go around doing stuff like that,” Chris muttered. 

“Why not? Aren’t you all about saving people?” Isaac said harshly. “Stop caring, Chris. I’m not your kid and this isn’t my family. Why should it matter what time I come home anyways?” 

“We had an agreement,” Chris said sharply. “You would live here. We would protect you. I would be responsible for you. Or you’d go back to Beacon Hills.” 

Isaac, appearing almost manic, blood from his nose down to his mid chest and from the side of his ribs to his hip, stepped closer. “Really, Chris?” Isaac tutted him. “You’re gonna send me back? How’re you gonna do that, hm? Drag me onto a plane? How’s the French government gonna deal with you taking a boy - who you have no relation to - out of the country? That doesn’t scream kidnapping to you?” 

“I have custody of you, Isaac,” Chris said sharply. 

“That stuff is tricky, Chris.” Isaac continued to step closer. “Especially with someone as _special_ as me. Would you risk exposing a werewolf to the TSA just to ship me off to California? What, are you going to handcuff me to you at the airport? Drug me? What’s your _plan_ , Chris?” Isaac was still getting closer, tall enough that he could meet Chris in the eye. “What I consider to be a threatening parent or a rough punishment is a lot more than anything you can dish out. Your _authority_ as a guardian means nothing to me.” 

Chris’s jaw was so tense Isaac could hear his teeth grinding. His heart rate faster. Anger radiating. 

“What’re you gonna do, Chris. You gonna hit me?” Isaac spoke softly now. His face inches from Chris’s. “You gonna lock me up? Give me a reason to listen to you? Oh sure, you could ground Allison. That was enough. Of course, she never actually listen to you. But her sneaking out was a lot subtler than me, wasn’t it? So what’re you gonna do? I don’t think the Argents have a freezer you could use, do they?” Isaac sneered. 

“You better slow down, Isaac,” Chris refused to yield. To look away even as Isaac unnerved him. 

“Gladly. But trust me, I’m not going anywhere. Even if I can’t live in this house, you’re not getting me back to California,” Isaac finally turned around, leaving Chris alone in the living room. “Don’t feel bad, Chris. None of this is your fault.”


	21. Chapter 21

Isaac was out late again. He was in a bar, which in France he was legally allowed to be in, drinking a free soda as he had claimed to be a designated driver. No point in trying if he couldn’t get drunk. He was the exact opposite of the creeps who went to bars stalking girls. Isaac had gone into a bar before without purpose. Simply bored, brooding, and curious. So he had gone inside and discovered a peculiar ability.

He had gone up to the bar. The man had asked to see his ID - thank god he spoke english - and Isaac had told him he wasn’t drinking. Instead the man handed him a blue wristband. Said he’d get free nonalcoholic drinks if he was a designated driver. Isaac didn’t correct him. 

It had happened just by chance. A couple on a first date had passed him and Isaac had smelled something salty from her cocktail. From there he had had a bad feeling. Isaac hadn’t really known what to do. 

“Don’t drink that,” had been his first instinct. 

The girl looked at him, obviously puzzled. It seemed neither of them spoke english. 

“Non boisson,” in his vaguely stupid urgency he had said ‘no drink’. 

The girl laughed at him but now looked a little nervous. 

“Que diriez-vous de vous écarter du chemin,” the man shook his head and tried to shoulder past him. Isaac didn’t move. “You go,” he said in a thick accent that made Isaac feel better about his abysmal french. 

“Please. Trust me,” Isaac said. He looked around for someone that might be able to help. No one else had noticed what Isaac had supernaturally scented out. Lydia had mentioned - Isaac had no recollection of how it had come up - that date rape drugs tasted salty. 

“Ce n'est pas ton affaire, américaine,” the man also seemed oblivious to the language barrier, as both of them continued speaking in their native languages. 

Maybe Isaac was being over dramatic, or flat out moronic, but it wasn’t a chance he was comfortable taking. “La boisson est mauvaise. c'est... mauvais.” All Isaac could think of was ‘the drink is bad. It’s bad.’ Somehow his french teacher had never bothered to tell him how to say ‘hey, I think this guy might be drugging you’. 

“De quoi parle-t-il, Jon?” The girl was now questioning her date. 

“Il est fou. Allez, le gamin avait probablement trop à boire,” the man dismissed her and tried to pull her away from Isaac. Both of them appeared to be in their twenties, so a random american teenager attempting to talk to them was probably a bit ridiculous. 

“Look, I will literally buy you another drink just don’t drink that one,” Isaac said a little desperately. Although afterwards he wanted to kick himself because this girl had _no fucking clue what he was saying_. 

The girl was now beginning to pester her date. He took the drink back and took a tiny sip of it as if to say ‘see? It’s fine’. She seemed to be moderately convinced. 

“Nope. No way, buddy. You’re not bullshitting out of this with that,” Isaac would not step down. 

“Je vais bien, petit garçon,” she said ‘I am okay’ a little patronizingly and moved to take back her drink. 

“Uh, jeter?” Isaac tried to see if she was throwing it away, but she just shook her head bemusedly at him and moved after her date. “Jesus fucking christ…” 

At which point he grabbed the drink out of her hand and leaned over the bar to dump it into the sink. To the indignance of the man, the woman, and the bartender. 

“Putain de connard,” the man yanked at Isaac’s collar. 

“You gonna throw a punch, fucking coward?” Isaac snarled. “Make my night, asshole.” 

“Jon! ne vous comportez pas comme ça. il est âgé de seize ans!” The woman scolded her date. “Je ne pense pas que j'aime ce côté de toi.” 

“Vous devez tous les deux partir,” the bartender spoke. “You both need to go.” 

“Gladly,” Isaac shoved the man off of him. He looked at the woman, whose night was obviously not going according to plan. “Er. Pardon. autre boisson?” He apologized and tried to make his offer of another drink understandable. Not in a flirting way - gross - but just because he sort of felt bad for dumping hers. Even though he was fairly confident it was drugged. 

“Americans,” was all she said before walking off, ignoring her date as well. Which at least made Isaac more confident she would be getting home safe. Without the man. 

Isaac left, said man being ushered out besides him. 

“tu as ruiné ma nuit, bitte,” the man shoved him. 

Isaac rolled up his right sleeve and made to swing at him, the man fully prepared to retaliate, before a cop started shouting at them from across the street. 

The man was quick to disappear then, leaving Isaac alone, angry, and unable to punch something. Fucking creep. The level of pissed he got made Isaac all the more confident that he’d slipped something in her drink. 

That had been a few days ago. When he had actually tried to sneak out and back in without being caught. It had worked. Or Chris had simply given up. 

Regardless, Isaac had stayed out late again. Hanging around bars looking for creepy guys walking girls who were way too drunk home. And if the bars got too boring - which they often did - he would walk around dark corners hoping for a fight. Honestly he was very disappointed that he hadn’t been mugged yet. 

Isaac laid his head on his hand, staring around the bar gloomily. Of course everyone here was normal and polite and not worthy of getting knocked out by a werewolf. 

A group of girls were almost screaming they were so loud across the bar. 

It was nice to know none of them were going on dates with a gross guy who just wanted to get in their pants, but Isaac was more than annoyed by their joyous girls night. 

Isaac hit his head on the table in front of him as said group started shouting at the bartender. Isaac couldn’t do it anymore. He got up and left, the air outside not quieter, but a lot less crowding. 

Isaac headed for the darker corners. Streets that people avoided. How was it so easy for superheros to find people to fight? Probably because they had police scanners. And spoke the language the police scanners would be in. Fuck. 

He could smell out drugs, but he couldn’t smell out a mugger? Isaac was acting like getting into a fight did anything besides make him let off his anger for a few minutes and feel just as bitter after. 

Still, Isaac heard voices yelling and was quick to follow. Couple of guys arguing. One far drunker than the other. Isaac first watched. Didn’t want to seem too desperate, going in guns blazing. Well, fists. Isaac had refused to get his claws out. Wanted to at least pretend he was fighting fair. 

“Je vais te tuer!” One shouted and was moving against the other. First just shoving. Until a punch sent the man pressed against the wall to the ground. 

By now Isaac had grasped that shouting at people in English was all but useless, so during his many hours at that cafe instead of home he had been brushing up on his French. 

“Hey! Reculer!” Isaac called ahead, telling him to back off. The man jumped back only out of surprise at Isaac’s appearance. 

“ _keep walking_ ,” the man with the upper hand called back. Isaac was delighted to find he understood him. 

“ _how about we all do?_ ” Isaac replied. He still stumbled over his words and from the huff of disdain from down the street his words were definitely imperfect. 

“... _boy. You don’t want to get hurt, do you?_ ” Isaac didn’t understand his first words but assumed they were an insult. 

“ _I don’t think he does,_ ” Isaac got closer, nodding down at the drunken man slumped against the wall, one hand pressed into his bloodied nose. 

“...va-t'en pendant que tu peux encore, gamin. Je vais bien…” Isaac’s french was getting better, but he could not understand the mumbled and slurred words of the man against the wall. 

“ _keep walking,_ ” the other man agreed with his adversary’s warnings. 

Isaac ignored him and instead bent down to help the bleeder to his feet. 

“Laisse-moi…” The man slurred, one hand, covered in dirt from the alley floor and blood, wiped across Isaac’s face. 

“Gross,” Isaac grumbled. 

“ _What are you doing?_ ” The man stood between Isaac and the street. 

“ _taking him to taxi. Or hospital. _” Isaac managed to say. Although he didn’t know how to say ‘alcohol poisoning’.__

__Isaac should have been prepared as the man’s aggression was less than subtle. But it was harder to avoid getting hit when you were supporting a grown man._ _

__Still, Isaac had gotten what he wanted. Not babysitting Paris’s drunks, but taking a punch and giving one back._ _

__Isaac, a little carelessly, dropped the man he was supporting and cracked his jaw in a dysmorphic - or werewolfish - way and knocked out the other man’s front teeth. The man staggered back, spitting out blood sloppily before lunging at Isaac. Isaac didn’t want it to be too easy, but come on. He just had to step back, right?_ _

__Isaac hadn’t made up his mind so the man did end up shoving him against the wall, yanking at the collar of his shirt before slamming him into the bricks._ _

__Isaac grimaced and kicked the man in the stomach. He fell back but was more grounded than Isaac had initially anticipated. Particularly when he stormed at Isaac with full bodied force, sending him reeling back. Enough so that Isaac lost balance and was thrown back onto the concrete._ _

__It was not only the wind getting knocked out of him, but the back of Isaac’s head burst into splitting pain, his vision spotted with white as waves of nausea took over._ _

__Isaac had no time to sit up or try and steady himself as the man seemed to have panicked at the blood evidently pooling from the back of his head and decided, rather than call for help, to kick Isaac in the side of the head._ _

__Isaac was about to cuss up a storm but he struggled to formulate words and he was still oddly winded. It was jarring. He _healed_ so why was his vision still blurring? Probably had something to do with the man kicking him in the side of the head _again_ since Isaac wasn’t dead yet. Apparently. _ _

__Isaac was starting to panic. He would heal. There was nothing this slightly drunk human man could throw at him that would kill him - hopefully - but he hadn’t been down on the ground like this in a long time. The man’s kicks were clumsier now, sometimes nailing him in the ribs and at one point crushing his fingers. Both healed, of course, but it did not bode well for Isaac’s already unsteady psyche._ _

__Logic was evading him with his head still spinning. At least that was the best way to justify it to himself. As Isaac’s next move involved flashing yellow eyes and drawing on unnatural strength as he forced himself to stand despite the man still trying his hardest to keep him down._ _

__Of course that was until he saw Isaac’s eyes._ _

__He was halfway down the street by the time Isaac was standing._ _

__“Fuck,” Isaac’s own words came out muffled in his right ear. Most likely due to a boot having made contact with that side of his head only moments before._ _

__Isaac thought he was going to be sick. Waves of nausea clung to him like a shadow even as his head stopped bleeding. The world had stopped spinning but still every step forced him to close his eyes and pause to refocus. Isaac was no longer concerned with the other man who had gotten out his phone and would hopefully call himself a ride, because Isaac was done playing babysitter._ _

__He didn’t even know why the two men had been fighting. Maybe he’d deserved to get punched in the nose. Isaac had made it halfway down the street in the opposite direction of the runner and was clinging to an empty bike rack, trying to keep himself vertical._ _

__Those still walking the streets didn’t question another drunk kid unable to keep steady. It was clearing up. He could see straight and walk steady. And once again Isaac wondered if had he been human if that fall would have killed him. He had been hoping to find trouble and his recklessness was paying off. Maybe next time he’d stumble across a hunter and have some real fun…_ _

__Isaac shook himself, still feeling vaguely disoriented, and started heading home. If anyone happened to look closely at the back of Isaac’s dark jacket they would see it stained even darker with blood which also matted his hair. By the time he had gotten his vigilante phase out of his system none of his clothes would be without blood. Isaac made it to the house and forgot to stay quiet on his way in._ _

__Isaac had been seemingly successful in his sneakouts as of late. The window made for a clean exit but as it was difficult to climb up the sheer stone wall outside he would sneak inside carefully. First by jumping the stone gate that they locked at night and then navigating the automatic flood lamps in the courtyard. Isaac had found that the overhang by the main gate was out of reach of the flood lamps and if he was careful, he could avoid the main part of the courtyard and reach the inside hall with relative ease._ _

__But Isaac still wasn’t thinking clearly. And soon enough blinding white light lit up the grass. More than one pair of feet rushed outside, some shouted orders as the night security came alive. Isaac could see the light reflecting off weapons as his eyes adjusted._ _

__“Retourne te coucher. Ce loup-garou est à moi,” Isaac heard a deeply annoyed Chris call off his cousins. The courtyard emptied. Isaac’s eyes adjusted more slowly and he still had a lingering headache. That fall definitely would’ve killed a human. There was a moment of quiet._ _

__“I’m done,” Chris said sharply. “Do you hear me? I’m not doing this anymore.”_ _

__“W-What’re you gonna do, close those wooden doors? Lock me in? Smother me in mountain ash? You and I both know that’s a bad idea. Psychologically for me and physically for your house.” Isaac was vaguely annoyed to find his words still came out a little slurred. “Werewolf panic attacks aren’t pretty.”_ _

__Chris paused his anger, noticing Isaac’s unsteadiness and the blood. “What did you do?” He yanked Isaac closer by his shoulder, turning him around to look at the back of his head._ _

__“It healed,” Isaac said stubbornly._ _

__“Did the other guy heal?” Chris snapped._ _

__“No,” Isaac said gloomily. “Ran away like a coward before I could get in more than one good punch.”_ _

__Chris assessed Isaac’s filthy clothes and the imprint of a boot outlined in dust on his ribs._ _

__“Looks like he got in more than that,” Chris frowned._ _

__“I _healed_ ,” Isaac pulled away. _ _

__“Yeah, but he didn’t know that, did he?” Chris seemed more pissed at the attacker than Isaac for a moment. “He beat the shit out of a teenager. Healed or not, that’s-”_ _

__“That’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed,” Isaac yanked his arm out of Chris’s grip as the man had tried to hold him there and was not so subtly checking his eyes for dilation._ _

__“Fine, then,” Chris snapped. “But Isaac, you’re gonna hear what I have to say. You obviously don’t think you have to listen to me, but know this next time there will be consequences. This is _it_ , you hear me?” _ _

__“Sure thing, Chris,” Isaac said dryly, not bothering to look back as he wandered upstairs to wash blood off yet again._ _


	22. Chapter 22

Isaac was getting nervous. Chris hadn’t spoken to him in the days past his last excursion. Isaac had wanted to make another attempt talking to Romy, but as always she had run off, leaving the courtyard without looking back. Isaac hesitated and after went for the nearest target. Jeanie.

“Come on, you know why I had to lie to you,” Isaac said. 

Jeanie’s lips became a thin line. “I do.” She said stiffly. Isaac hated how the dynamic with all of his friends had shifted slightly. 

“So why- Why is she…?” Isaac couldn’t finish his own question regarding Romy. 

“Isaac, I do not agree with everything my cousin has done, but surely you can at least understand why she’s reluctant,” Jeanie told him. 

“Reluctant,” Isaac scoffed. “She’s not reluctant. She hates me. Probably wants me dead at this rate.” 

“You’re both very rash,” Jeanie rolled her eyes. “She does not what you _dead_.” 

“So she does hate me then?” 

“No,” Jeanie said. She didn’t seem completely certain. “Look, this entire house has issues with your kind. Everyone here has someone who died because of you.” 

“Not because of _me_. I don’t represent every goddamn werewolf,” Isaac snapped. 

“ _I_ know that. I know that anyone here with an ounce of intelligence knows it, at least on some level. It’s just… hard. It scared us at first to think that the thing we’ve learned to fear was living here without us knowing. Like pausing before crossing the street and realizing a car was coming around the corner,” Jeanie tried to articulate the fear and the hatred that had been ingrained in their blood since birth. 

“It is not an excuse. But it is an explanation,” Jeanie added. 

“Don’t know if that distinction matters,” Isaac said, his hand finding the back of his neck as always they could not remain still. 

Jeanie didn’t have a retort to that. “Look, I have tried talking to Romy. And there are things that are hers to explain. The fact of it is she needs time.” 

“And why couldn’t she tell me that?” Isaac snapped. 

Jeanie gave him a look before continuing. “I expect by now she’s ashamed of it. Of how hard it is for her to talk to you. She doesn’t know how to fix it after so long of avoiding you.” 

“And you’ve tried talking to her?” Isaac asked, already disappointed by the answer he knew was coming. 

“I have,” Jeanie nodded. “I’ll keep trying. But two weeks is not enough for Romy to get over herself. She’ll hold a grudge against her own feelings as long as she can.” 

“Great,” Isaac said dryly. He moved to leave Jeanie alone, feeling that nothing had changed between them while Romy was still upset. 

“Isaac,” Jeanie stopped him, reaching out and holding onto his arm. Her eyebrows, thin and as serious as the rest of her, furrowed. “I’ve been hearing a lot of things about you lately.” 

“Have you?” Isaac couldn’t help but sound hostile. 

“Uncle Chris really cares about you. You and I both know he doesn’t deserve any more heartache,” Jeanie scolded him. 

Isaac did feel guilty. But he had no clue how else he was supposed to cope with this restlessness inside of him. “I’ve heard. And I know he’s pissed, I just wish he could just leave it alone.” 

“That’s the caring part,” Jeanie pointed out. She had not yet let go of his arm. Isaac didn’t pull away. “And I’ve heard more than that.” Jeanie was careful with her words. Not one to waste them. “Be careful. I don’t need to tell you what you’re doing is dangerous, but I have to remind you that if something happens to you it doesn’t just hurt you. Got it?” 

Isaac went quiet, only able to nod. Jeanie let go of his arm. 

Isaac felt weighted with this fact. And the fact that he had been thrown off so heavily in that fight days before. Isaac had healed, but what if someone got him on the ground and the blow happened to be fatal? What if something killed him before he could heal? Isaac was too confident. Unless a mugger happened to shoot him in the head he surely could keep this up, right? 

Isaac was distracted by a far more pressing concern. 

David was back. 

Isaac stared at him from across the courtyard where David spoke to his father. Well, David was mostly listening. He looked reluctant to be there, rarely meeting Gabriel’s eyes. Even more so when after the lecture his father pulled him close into a hug. 

Isaac was relieved to find that David hadn’t noticed him lurking in the shadows. That or he had and vemently made sure not to look his way. 

Gabriel was less inclined. He sent his son off into the house and crossed the green to Isaac. 

“You’re going to be late for school, Isaac,” Gabriel said. 

“Yeah my attendance hasn’t been great as of late,” Isaac still stared over his shoulder at the place where David had exited. 

“He will not bother you. He won’t even go near you,” Gabriel got straight to the point. 

“Okay,” Isaac said. He believed the man on that front. Less so on him conspiring to have Isaac poisoned. 

“If you feel unsafe, we can still work on this,” Gabriel pushed. 

“No, thanks, but I don’t want you doing anything else to him. David has enough reason to hate me,” Isaac told him. 

“He’ll grow up,” Gabriel said determinedly. “We’ll make sure of it.” 

Isaac nodded again, desperate to leave the conversation. “So. I’m gonna go, get to class and all of that,” he said awkwardly. 

“Of course,” Gabriel nodded. “David will be back in school tomorrow. If he bothers you outside this house you will tell someone, yes?” 

Isaac just kept nodding, one foot already out the door. 

Isaac entered the building with the general intention of attending for the entire day. Ideally. Isaac was proud of himself for coming back after their lunch break. Even if he left their second actually french class halfway through saying he had to go to the bathroom. Which he did. Sure he just sat on the counter and went on his phone, wishing he could smoke. 

That is until of all the fucking people to walk in. First day back and David somehow manages to wind up in the same room as Isaac. It was strange. They both stared at each other, David stopped just inside the door, Isaac still sitting on the counter, legs not quite touching the ground. 

Neither of them spoke. For over a minute. An extraordinary amount of time. David wasn’t exactly trusting enough to take a piss with a guy who had every reason to kill him. Isaac didn’t know if standing would be taken as a threat. David actually opened his mouth to speak. Before rethinking it and shaking his head. 

Isaac had spent days looking for a fight. Now the perfect person he’d want to take out was standing right in front of him. Alone. And he hesitated. 

Still, he had to give him the option. “You want to talk about it?” Isaac said sarcastically. “Wanna hit me? Feel free to, but you know I gotta hit back.” 

David’s jaw tensed so much that Isaac could see a vein in his neck and his cheeks grew red at remarkable speed. 

Still, Isaac waited for David to make the first move. In an unlikely turn of events, David stepped aside from the door. 

“You know I can’t do that, not because I don’t want to,” David spoke softly, voice taut, his hands balled into fists, “and god, I want to, but because they won’t let me. So just leave.” David looked pained for a moment, “please.” 

Isaac listened maybe out of shock. David had said _please_ to him. 

Still, upon leaving he was a little resentful of both David and himself for not throwing a punch. The bastard had obviously wanted to. Had his family actually managed to scare him straight? Or had they replaced him with a clone and the real David was locked up in some Argent safehouse? 

Either way. Isaac had every right to want to knock David’s lights out. The bastard had outed him, gotten him shot, ruined his relationships, oh yeah, and slit his throat. Twice. 

He was the fucking reason his nightmares were back and he didn’t feel safe at the house. 

Why Romy couldn’t even look at him. 

Isaac headed for the front door. 

Isaac found himself back at the cafe which had become his habit. He didn’t bother to order, only sat down in his usual corner table immediately. One of the managers gave him a dirty look as he hadn’t bought anything. Isaac looked a little irritated, before going to his pockets for some cash. Isaac had been… liberating the wallets of the attackers he stopped. Yet, as his plan had been to stay at school all day like a good little werewolf, he hadn’t brought any money with him. 

Shit. Isaac didn’t want to leave. There were no dark corners to haunt during daylight hours and there was no way in hell he was going back to the school or to the house. 

Said manager was about to come over to the table when the other employee stopped him. She was the same girl who had served him when he had first come in and had been around often throughout the other days. She grabbed a mug and after a moment’s hesitation, a blueberry muffin. 

She spoke to him in French. Simply enough that Isaac understood her. “ _Hey, um, here_.” She seemed unsure of herself and shoved the coffee and muffin onto the table in front of him. “ _It’s what you usually get, right?_ ” Isaac paused, first translating her words and then forming his own. “ _Yes, but I don’t have any money. Forgot my… money bag. _” Isaac had forgotten the word for ‘wallet’ as well.__

__She seemed to bite back a grin. “You’d prefer english, yes?” Thick accent, but fluency._ _

__“Yeah, but how’s that fair to you?” Isaac said awkwardly. She hadn’t taken the coffee back._ _

__“I have spoken english since I was eight. How long have you spoken French?” She asked._ _

__“Few years. Took a class in high school,” Isaac muttered grudgingly._ _

__“I am fine with English,” she sort of scuffed her feet for a moment. As if expecting him to say something. “And hey, the food is on me.”_ _

__“Why?” Isaac asked instead of thanking her. His education on manners was to put it lightly, skewed._ _

__She didn’t seem to find this rude, rather she seemed embarrassed. “I’ve been… I’ve been upcharging you. Whenever you come in,” she didn’t look at him for a moment. “Just thought you were some tourist.”_ _

__“Oh,” Isaac wasn’t mad. Just surprised._ _

__“Yeah, so I owe you a few muffins,” she said with an unsure sort of laugh. “Look, I gotta get back to work. But just thought I’d…” She trailed off before seeming to realize something. “I’m Dell, by the way. Probably should have started with that.”_ _

__“Isaac,” he told her. “And thanks.”_ _

__She gave him a little smile before heading back behind the counter._ _

__Isaac stared after her. Feeling a little shocked. A girl - a pretty girl he might add - had just come up to him and started a conversation. Not that Isaac had any intention of dating. It had sort of lost its appeal in the grief. Regardless, Isaac was desperate for companionship. Just someone to make him feel less lonely. An actual friend maybe, considering he currently had none._ _

__Isaac did his best not to look her way for the following hours. Until, as per usual, his phone died. Isaac sighed. He needed to start carrying a charger with him. Rather than leave or acknowledge the girl still working nearby he got out his french notes._ _

__Not long after, Dell came back over, this time sitting down across from him._ _

__“You want any help?” She stared down at his notes._ _

__Isaac didn’t question her inviting herself to his table and instead nodded._ _

__“Do you mean can _I_ help or can _you_ help?” She pointed down at the sheet of paper in front of him. _ _

__“You,” Isaac said, staring at the notes rather than her._ _

__“The order is off. Here,” she took his pencil and rewrote the sentence._ _

__“Thanks,” Isaac said, going on to fix the mistake which he had repeated several times._ _

__“Sure,” Dell was quiet while he fixed his work. Then, “so, Isaac, what’re you doing in Paris?”_ _

__“Not gonna ask me where I’m from first?”_ _

__“You’re American. Obviously,” Dell said._ _

__“Fair enough,” Isaac said. He tried to recall what the normal answer was to why he was there. “I’m staying with family. Living here, for now.”_ _

__“With family? So you’re French? Makes sense. Isaac is a french name,” Dell nodded._ _

__“I’m not french. Not that I know of, anyways. Staying with a… family friend,” Isaac told her. His awkward unsurety definitely stood out._ _

__“Okay. Why’d you leave America? You don’t speak French, fluently at least,” Dell asked._ _

__“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” Isaac deflected._ _

__Dell laughed a little uncertainly. “Yeah. Guess I do. Do you want to know anything about me?”_ _

__Isaac wasn’t sure if his question was rude or not. He asked anyways. “Why’d you come talk to me?”_ _

__“Felt bad for overcharging you. And I thought my manager was gonna have you leave,” Dell leaned closer and spoke more softly. “He’s a dick. Doesn’t like you staying here for hours. But if you buy something he isn’t supposed to make you leave, so.”_ _

__Isaac laughed, “well, thanks for saving my ass. But… why after? Why’re you here?”_ _

__Dell blushed, faintly visible in her dark cheeks. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to overstep.”_ _

__“No, no it’s not that,” Isaac said quickly. “Just… surprised me._ _

__“Yeah, well,” now Dell seemed to pause. “You’re always sitting here alone. Damn near silent. I get bored at work. You get bored when your phone dies. It seems… inconvenient. You doing nothing and me wanting to do nothing.”_ _

__“Fine,” Isaac straightened up, his school work abandoned. “Where’re you from?”_ _

__She snorted. “Paris? Born and raised,” she told him. “What, didn’t think a black person could be native french?”_ _

__Isaac grew flustered, “no, no, it’s just what you’re supposed to ask. That or _so what’s your story_? But if I said that I’d vomit.” _ _

__“Okay I cannot blame you for that,” Dell admitted. “Ask me something else. Something less stupid.”_ _

__“You still in school?”_ _

__She debated whether or not it was a stupid question for a moment. “I graduated last year.”_ _

__“Going to university?”_ _

__Dell paused to think again, before letting out a half laugh of anxiety. “Not sure yet.”_ _

__Isaac knew the feeling. “Makes you feel any better, I have fuckall reasons for being in France.”_ _

__“Do you really need to know that yet? You’re, what, sixteen?” Dell replied._ _

__“Seventeen. And who says you need to know where you want to go yet? And you’re what, eighteen?” was Isaac’s retort._ _

__Dell quirked an eyebrow. “Nineteen. And I’m not sure if we’re both right or dead wrong.”_ _

__“Who gives a shit,” at which point Isaac put his head down on the table. “God I wish I could get drunk,” he groaned._ _

__Dell laughed. “I wish you the best of luck, but I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to pick up some stuff for my mum.”_ _

__“Oh. Okay,” Isaac immediately felt vaguely embarrassed as if he had intruded on her evening._ _

__“But I’ll see you later, yeah?” She asked almost earnestly. “You’re not gonna find somewhere else to crash now that I’ve bothered you, right?”_ _

__Isaac laughed, relieved. “No. Don’t worry about that. I’m a creature of habit.”_ _

__“I’ll see you, then,” and then Dell was gone. And Isaac was lonely again._ _

__Isaac left, school bag still slung over his shoulder. It was evening now so he could go to his usual haunts. Isaac found a club which was just starting to see business and played the ‘designated driver’ card again for free drinks. He still wished he could get drunk. Somehow he couldn’t feel that as a werewolf, but his supernatural healing hadn’t figured out a way to fill the hole of bitter sadness that crept up on him after a moment alone?_ _

__Isaac initially was fine sitting in the corner, watching those coming and going. Getting drunker. But as the club reached maximum capacity and the music remained loud Isaac left. If he couldn’t handle people, how could he be expected to help them?_ _

__Isaac hit the street walking fast. If he couldn’t find trouble in a crowded club he could look for it in the dark corners._ _

__He never made it to them._ _

__Because he was still out on a crowded and brightly lit street when someone, passing not even close, smelled like someone like _him_. And they knew it to. _ _

__But it wasn’t until the man stopped and looked back at him that they both realized that they recognized the other from another time. One where Isaac was on the side of the hunters breaking down the door._ _


	23. Chapter 23

Isaac looked away from him and kept walking. He didn’t think, he didn’t stop, he just shouldered through the crowd as quickly as he dared. He could still smell the wolf not far behind him. With a sudden jolt in his stomach, Isaac realized the man wasn’t alone. Isaac started walking faster, eyes locked ahead. He didn’t have a plan. He needed to lose them somehow and how could he safely assume that they wouldn’t attack him if he stopped here in the crowded streets?

Isaac made a sharp left, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. No. He was still close behind, and with a glance over his shoulder Isaac saw he was joined by a man and a woman. Three against one. He had to lose them. 

Isaac turned into the next opening he saw. 

Only to immediately try and back out. 

It was a dead end. And Isaac had a feeling the street behind him was not populated enough for someone to notice three people closing in on him. 

Isaac backed up to return to the street only to smack into the chest of a man close behind him. 

“Regarde la rue,” the man he had crashed into called to the other man in their trio. He left to return to the street. A lookout. 

Isaac backed up slowly. It was chain link fencing. He could jump it. Isaac turned and took off running, with one jump his hands were onto the edge of the fence, the wire tearing into his palms, but before he could pull himself over someone yanked him back down. He hit the filthy concrete hard, the wind knocked out of him. 

The woman who had forced him back down now picked him up by the collar of his shirt, slamming him into the brick. 

“We must be the luckiest bastards in the world,” she snarled in thick english, her face mere inches from him and fangs quickly forming. 

“Come on, you guys don’t want to get hurt, do you?” Isaac said, his eyes flashing yellow and claws forming in his hands at his sides. 

The man further down yet out a harsh laugh. “You owe us some blood, traitor. You got us kicked out of our home. Even without that, we should kill you for siding with _them_ ,” he snarled, his own fangs growing. 

So they weren’t planning on letting him walk out of here. 

Isaac beat them to the first move. He slammed his head into the woman in front of him, throwing her back and leaving them both dazed. Isaac’s vision was spotted from the move but he still vaulted forward, claws out. She yelped as his claws made contact with her right arm, raised to protect her face. 

Before he could get another swing in her partner dragged him back, holding his arms behind his back. 

“I am going to enjoy this,” the woman’s eyes gleamed amber and she rolled up her sleeves. Rather than tear into his skin immediately she landed one good punch. Enough to dislocate his jaw. 

It healed and Isaac spat blood, yanking vehemently against the man holding him. She punched him in the face and expected anything more of a reaction? No way. Isaac had been taking punches since he was a kid. She’d have to try a little harder. 

And she did. Isaac cried out as her claws tore into his cheek, blood spilling down his neck. Unhealing. Or at least healing slowly. Isaac was somehow surprised. As if he hadn’t expected them to actually tear into him. Isaac could not take this lying down. Attempting to forgive himself preemptively for the brain damage he was about to incur again, he slammed his head back into the nose of the man holding him. He let go, letting out a curse and clutching his bleeding nose as it began to heal. 

Isaac headed for the street, only to be slammed into the ground face first by the man jumping on his back, claws digging into his shoulders. Hot breath in his ears as fangs came far too close to his neck. He was too heavy for Isaac to knock off, so he rolled over, crushing the man into the dirt and scrambling to his feet. 

Before he could get his bearings the woman’s claws slashed across his side, drawing blood from his ribs and his right arm. 

Isaac had to run. He had to get out of here he couldn’t take on both of them. He took off only for the man on the ground to grab onto his ankle and send him tumbling with a gasp, his ribs aching from their wounds. 

The woman rolled him over, straddling his waist and keeping him pinned into the dirt, her claws raked down his chest and he screamed in pain as his skin was torn apart. 

“H-Help! Somebody help me!” Isaac shouted out desperately, hoping even if it was just some human that they would scare his attackers off. 

The man laughed and said something in french to his comrade who got off of him and pulled him up by his jacket. There he dragged his claws across Isaac’s stomach. Isaac was grateful that is organs remained inside of him. He wouldn’t be able to keep on fighting for much longer. 

“We’re going to take our time killing you, boy. It is one thing to be a hunter, another to be a traitor to your kind,” the man jeered at him, his eyes glowing amber. This man was not a murderer. His eyes weren’t blue. It seemed he intended to change that. 

He had to act. Isaac slammed his body into the woman holding him, sending her tumbling, and of course the man went to take over. Isaac couldn’t let them keep on tag teaming him. He sunk his fangs into the man’s shoulder, who shuddered back, howling with pain. 

The woman hadn’t gotten to her feet yet. Isaac ran, one hand holding onto the deepest wound in his gut, the other shoving their lookout out of his way. 

Someone shouted something in French and the lookout grabbed onto Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac whirled around and punched the man in the nose on instinct. It got him to let go. And then Isaac was running. Down this deserted street and taking the first turn he could. 

And then Isaac was running. He ignored the terrible pain and the blood trailing from his numerous wounds and kept his feet pounding into the concrete. Putting as much distance between himself and that trio as he could. 

Yet eventually Isaac’s vision began to blur and his knees to buckle beneath him. He clung to the wall at his left. The few others on this street paid him no mind. It was too dark to see the blood. 

Isaac vaguely knew where he was. He kept one hand on the wall and the other on his stomach, there is hand was slick with blood, sliding over the tattered flesh as he tried to keep himself together. Isaac turned another corner and felt weak with relief. He knew this street. And he knew that the house was the next block over. 

Isaac shuffled as fast as he dared without risking losing more blood. He finally saw the house and headed for the gate. Isaac had no idea how he could jump it, but maybe he could break the lock. 

Isaac stopped, leaning against the wall across the street. Something was wrong. 

Isaac couldn’t see through the gate. Isaac limped across the street with a rising panic. 

The door to the courtyard had been closed. Isaac had never seen it closed before. He went up to the gate, reaching through only to flinch back with a hiss when his hand burned against the mountain ash door. 

Chris had locked him out. 

“No, no no, come on Chris, why’d you have to do that tonight?” Isaac slammed his fist against the stone wall only to regret it when it sent waves of shock through his wounded body. Something else crumbled inside of him. He didn’t even feel angry. He just felt abandoned. 

Isaac scrambled for his phone, it slipping through his his bloodied hands. It had died earlier but he prayed it would turn on just long enough for him to call Chris. 

“Yes!” Isaac exclaimed, glancing furtively around the street, as if expecting those wolves to have followed him here. Isaac’s phone had come to life, battery in the red. 

There, for a precious second, he hesitated. Chris had locked him out why did he expect him to answer when Isaac called? He had to try. Isaac’s hand was shaking. Blood loss. Anxiety. It didn’t matter. Isaac called him. 

Each ring meant one less second of battery life. The dial tone just kept on playing. The recording for a message began to play but Isaac didn’t have the patience or the time to beg for Chris’s help into his voicemail. Apparently Chris had cut him off properly. Isaac stared at his phone screen, letting out a soft whine of panic as he knew it was a miracle that his phone hadn’t died yet. But who else did he have to call? 

Somehow even as he was bleeding out Isaac’s pride slowed him down. 

Dr. Bhatt had given him his number for a reason. 

He pressed dial. 

Isaac was honestly about to start crying - or he was going to pass out - as the phone kept ringing. 

“Allô?” A groggy voice picked up. “Pourquoi appelez-vous si tard?” It was a man, but it didn’t sound like Bhatt, the accent was all wrong, but it was the number he was given. 

“Please, is Dr. Bhatt there?” Isaac asked. He slumped down against the wall outside the house, staring with slightly disconnected horror as blood continued to come from the wounds. They had been healing slowly before but since approaching the locked door Isaac’s wounds remained steadfastly open and bleeding. 

“Oui une seconde…” the man on the other end pulled away from the receiver. 

Finally, Bhatt’s tired voice picked up, “allô?” 

“Dr. Bhatt, please you gotta help me,” Isaac’s words were becoming slurred. 

“Isaac, where are you?” Bhatt was immediately alert. He didn’t ask questions, only for an address. 

“I’m outside the house but I think they might still find me…” Isaac was only vaguely aware he was becoming incoherent. 

“Isaac, look for a street sign. Please,” Bhatt pushed. 

“I’m by Grande Rue,” Isaac squinted at the sign down the street. 

“I’m on my way. You stay on the phone, alright, Isaac?” Bhatt said. 

“Phone’s gonna die… I’m-I’m gonna die…” Isaac mumbled. 

“Isaac you are not going to die you just keep talking to me while you can. You stay awake, got it?” Bhatt said firmly. Isaac could hear the sounds of cars and people talking. Bhatt must be outside. 

“If they find me outside the house I’m dead…” 

“Isaac you just tell me if you move.” 

That was the last word Bhatt got in before Isaac’s phone died. So he couldn’t move. Not without risking bleeding out alone in some alleyway. How likely was it that a group of werewolves would know the headquarters of the most dangerous hunting family in Europe? Very likely, if they weren’t stupid. But ideally following that logic they wouldn’t be stupid enough to come looking. 

Isaac flinched at the sound of a car coming around the corner. He tried to pull himself to stand up in case they had ill intentions. The car stopped and out of the passenger door Bhatt rushed to his side. 

“Slow down, slow down,” Bhatt urged him. Isaac stumbled against the wall and Bhatt grabbed his free arm, pulling it around his shoulder. Isaac blearily focused on Bhatt. He was in pajama bottoms with a coat and sneakers pulled on over them. Isaac was getting blood on his clothes already. 

“Come on, son. Stay awake,” Bhatt started to pull him back towards the car. “Reste dans la voiture, chérie je l'ai eu,” he called to the driver - also in pajamas - who had been getting out of the car to help. “You’re okay,” Bhatt helped him into the back seat, getting in on the other side. There he grabbed a sweatshirt off the floor of the car and started pressing it into the deepest wound on his gut. Bhatt winced sympathetically when Isaac groaned at the pressure. 

“Nous devons l'emmener à l'hôpital,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb. Isaac recognized his voice from picking up the phone. 

“c'est trop dangereux. Le mauvais type de questions et le mauvais type de médecin pourraient lui faire mal,” Bhatt told him sharply. “nous allons l'emmener à la nôtre. Vous savez que nous avons assez de fournitures.” 

Having agreed upon a destination, the man took off. 

“Isaac, you have to keep talking,” Bhatt said sharply. 

“I don’t know why… ‘m not healing…” Isaac mumbled. 

“Fair question,” Bhatt frowned. 

“It was getting better… but I got to the house ‘nd it stopped…” 

“Nothing we can’t fix, right Petyr?” Bhatt called to the driver who nodded grimly, as if not trusting himself to speak. “We’re emissaries, remember? We’ll patch you up in no time.” 

Isaac reached up and held onto Bhatt’s arm tightly, blood staining into the shirt, “thanks for saving my ass… didn’t know if you’d come.” 

Bhatt seemed to be trying to compose himself. “We’re emissaries. It’s our job to help people like you.”


	24. Chapter 24

“My bag.”

“What?” 

“I lost my bag. In the alley.” 

Of course that was what he thought of. 

“That is a problem for later, Isaac.” Anyone besides Dr. Bhatt would have told him to forget about it. That it was worthless considering Isaac was still bleeding out. Bhatt was still a therapist. 

The driver, Petyr, pulled over into a side street crowded with parked cars. There he got out and went over to help Bhatt carry Isaac out. They headed for the front door of an apartment complex. Bhatt held open the door while Petyr, the stronger of the two, carried Isaac inside. 

Isaac was only vaguely aware of the tall, broad shouldered man carrying him and his therapist walking ahead. His eyes remained out of focus on the stark, white lighting of the hallway, the pain all over his body fading to the background. Isaac was experiencing some disconnect from his body due to pain or blood loss. He noted with a muted disgust that there was a hole in his cheek, ripping it down the middle. Torn there from being slashed across the face. Isaac resisted the urge to poke at it with his tongue. 

The lights from the hallway disappeared under the warmer glow of a lamp as they entered an apartment. Bhatt shoved aside a few bowls from the counter so Isaac could be laid there. It was a far less professional setup than the Argent safehouse. 

Isaac could hear the pair rummaging around the kitchen, murmuring to each other softly. Perhaps advice or instruction. Bhatt returned to his line of sight, brow furrowed. He took a pair of scissors and cut Isaac’s tattered shirt away from his body, Isaac winced as the cloth, which had stuck to his skin from the blood, was pulled away. 

“This is going to hurt,” Bhatt didn’t see a point in pretending otherwise. 

“What else is new?” Isaac muttered, his slurred speech caused by the tattered flesh as much as the blood loss. 

Bhatt said something to Petyr who held a hooked needle and a roll of thin floss-like thread. Bhatt offered Isaac his hand. Isaac ignored the awkwardness of how little he really knew the man and squeezed it gratefully. 

“Might want to give me something to bite. Doubt the neighbors will ignore screaming,” Isaac said, every breath sending waves of pain through his torn ribs. 

Bhatt nodded curtly before returning with a kitchen towel, putting it between the boy’s gritted teeth. “I’ll forgive you if you tear it apart with your teeth.” 

Isaac simply looked at the ceiling, wanting to give it over with. 

He had seen the needle and been prepared for that. Less so for the rag doused in rubbing alcohol. Isaac didn’t manage to resist screaming into the cloth the moment it burned into the wound on his gut. He vaguely heard Bhatt gasp as Isaac all but crushed his hand. 

The burning faded for a moment and Isaac almost relaxed. Until the cloth was pressed into the wound across his shoulder. Isaac yanked his hand away from Bhatt’s, fearing he was going to break the man’s fingers. He slammed his fist against the counter instead as Petyr pressed the cloth into his tattered cheek next. 

Finally, there were no more wounds to clean. It made Isaac nervous. The use of rubbing alcohol. If they thought the wounds would be open long enough for infection, then healing wasn’t going to happen any time soon. It wasn’t like there was wolfsbane to clean out, nor had his attackers been alphas. Wounds from another wolf always took longer to heal. Isaac wasn’t sure why but it had always been that way. Still, he was sure that his healing shouldn’t’ve been quite this delayed. 

“We’re almost there, we just got to stitch up the deep ones,” Bhatt tried to console him. 

Isaac rolled his eyes. He was shaking, but had to be sarcastic in some way. Bhatt brought over the lamp from the living room so Petyr could see. 

Isaac bit into the towel as the needle punctured his skin. This was going to be a long night. There was far more to stitch up than a single bullet wound. Bhatt held onto his shoulder. Whether to ground him or hold him still Isaac didn’t care. Isaac tried to disconnect himself from physical feeling as the man continued to sew him back together. It did not end once the wound on his stomach was sewn shut. Next was the ribs. Isaac made the foolish decision to look down. 

Petyr held strips of his flesh between the claw marks together, sewing carefully. Isaac thought for a moment he could see bone. Surely he had imagined it. God, he was gonna faint. 

After what felt like an eternity, he moved on to Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac, not really aware of it, was scraping his claws into Bhatt’s countertops. 

“Come on, you have to sit up, Isaac. To get your back,” Bhatt told him. Isaac took his hand once again so the man could pull him up. Isaac hunched forward, what skin wasn’t covered in blood shined with sweat. Isaac fought back another groan of pain as Petyr sewed the deep gouge which had wrapped over his shoulder and down the top of his back. They had really been trying to kill him. 

The towel in his mouth was completely soaked in blood from the wound across his cheek. Not that it mattered as his fangs, creeping forward from the stress, bore holes into the fabric. Isaac tried to remove some of the tension from his muscles as Petyr finished stitching the wounds on his back. 

“Now for the best one,” Isaac mumbled, having taken the towel from his mouth. He’d have to in order for Petyr to sew shut the hole in his cheek. 

“It’ll be easy,” Bhatt lied. “It’s the smallest one.” 

“Can you keep your mouth open for me, Isaac?” Petyr finally spoke to him. So he did speak english. 

Isaac nodded, doing as told. 

“You can’t speak, alright? If your mouth moves it could be bad,” Petyr told him. By ‘speak’ Isaac knew he really meant scream. 

Isaac had years of practice keeping himself quiet. Dealing with pain. Or at least that’s what he told himself as a needle went through his cheek. But as Bhatt had said, it was the smallest wound and was sewn shut easily. 

“Fucking finally,” Isaac muttered as the last wound was done. Even that hurt the wounds, stitches or not. 

“Not quite,” Bhatt had in his free hand a small mason jar. Inside of it was a greenish brown salve. “But this should help with the pain too, okay?” 

Isaac nodded, allowing the man to rub whatever witchy concoction he had made into the wounds. Some of the tension left his body as the burning faded to a dull ache, the ointment cooling the cuts. 

“Petyr, donnez-lui des vêtements propres,” Bhatt told Petyr. 

The other man nodded before leaving to another room. 

“Better?” Bhatt asked once he had finished. Isaac nodded. “Good. You’re looking very pale, but considering how much you were bleeding that is to be expected. Here, drink this,” Bhatt handed him a glass. 

“What, you have some magic potion to fix me?” Isaac asked sarcastically. 

“No. It’s juice. Get some sugar in you after the blood loss.” 

Isaac drank it. 

Petyr returned with a t shirt and linen pants. “You may want to scrub off some of the blood first.” 

“But no showering,” Bhatt said quickly. “You don’t want to wash off the salve. At least for tonight.” 

Isaac nodded, having expected as much. In this moment of calm now that he was fairly confident he wasn’t going to bleed to death, he had to say it again. “Thank you. I didn’t know what I was gonna do if you hadn’t…” 

“You are not our first, Isaac,” Petyr reassured him. 

“We’ve scraped more than one wounded wolf off the pavement,” Bhatt agreed. 

“You more than me, Ari,” Petyr said somewhat teasingly. 

Ari. Isaac suddenly realized that until now he hadn’t known Dr. Bhatt’s first name. That he didn’t know anything about him. That all of this breached every prerequisite of a therapist-patient relationship. Still, they were not the typical therapist or patient. 

“Guess I should introduce Petyr properly, considering you’re off your death bed,” Bhatt -Ari? Was that appropriate?- broke Isaac out of his thoughts. “Petyr is also an ex emissary. From Ukraine. Joined our little ring just over a year ago. About the same time I did.” 

“It is nice to meet you, Isaac,” Petyr said. Isaac now placed his accent. Russian. Or actually Ukrainian, he supposed. 

“Sure you already know plenty about me,” Isaac said, swinging his legs off the counter, wincing as his wounded skin shifted. 

Bhatt looked incredibly offended. “He does not!” Bhatt said firmly. “My patient’s information is strictly confidential.” Isaac wasn’t sure how to respond to the outburst. “Safehouse or not, boyfriend or not, I have not told Petyr anything about you. He did not even know your name until tonight!” 

“Ari,”Petyr seemed equally flustered by his boyfriend’s outburst. As Isaac noted, unsurprisingly, the man who had been sleeping next to Dr. Bhatt’s phone and had gone with him at two in the morning was Bhatt’s partner. 

“Petyr,” Bhatt said mockingly back. 

Petyr gave Bhatt another look before speaking to Isaac again. 

“I’ll show you to the bathroom.” 

Bhatt called after the pair of them, “do not wash off the medicine!” 

Their bathroom was utterly ordinary accept for the fact that they had a box of over a dozen toothbrushes individually wrapped and seemed to have more towels than would be ordinary for two people. 

“Go ahead and ruin a washcloth. It’s expected. And feel free to pick a toothbrush,” Petyr said before leaving him. 

The door shut and Isaac simultaneously felt the tension leave and return to his shoulders. His shirt, what was left of it after the claws, had been cut clean through by Bhatt to dress his wounds. 

The problem was not the condition of his shirt. It was the condition of his skin. Isaac’s reflection looked like fucking frankenstein. The green paste was drying against his skin like mud, the substance curving in the divots between stitches. Isaac’s hands shook slightly as he traced over the stitch holding his cheek together. He wet a towel and was quick to scrub any unmarred flesh of the blood. It didn’t do much. It felt like a fourth of his body was just dried blood and pieces all sewn together. 

All Isaac could think about was how long ago he had stared into the mirror and hated his body for the scars his father gave him. It was almost dysphoric how lucidly he was returned to a different time with the same problem. 

Late nights, the bathroom door barricaded with a chair after his father broke the lock. Turning to look at the cracked and stretched scabbing of belt marks in a mirror. They healed so slowly since lacrosse and digging graves was far from gentle on a wounded back. As was being thrown to the kitchen floor and kicked in the ribs. They didn’t scar pretty, to say the least. Before, Isaac’s back had been covered in warped, raised scars. It didn’t end there. Isaac’s self loathing would have been more avoidable if it had just been on his back. Where it was harder to see. The scars on his neck were slight. The skin just a bit darker in thin cuts due to it being dragged away by a chain. And his hands were the worst. It was impossible not to see those little scars when he wrung his hands on his desk, head down, praying a teacher didn’t ask about the bruise on his face. 

Yet those scars were so simple. They came to him quite painlessly. At least compared to the rest. Picking up glass with his bare hands. Over and over. Unable to stop out of fear of his father in the next room even as it tore into his fingers. Because if his father didn’t think he was good enough he’d take him downstairs. 

And that’s where the other scars on his hands came from. Cracked lines around his fingernails from tearing them apart on a concrete floor and the metal door of a freezer. The amount of hysteria it took to tear apart his own fingernails… 

Those scars were only a reminder of that hysteria. 

Derek had turned him into a werewolf. His father had died. He had left that fucking _house_. But the scars hadn’t gone anywhere. 

And these wounds, so new and patched together, were another reminder. Isaac did not regret what he had done to get rid of old scars. But the ugliness he saw in that marred skin only proved that the true issues remained. 

Isaac hated his scars more than the physical pain that caused them. Or at least he had had the luxury to think so after the fact. When he had the chance to decide. And he chose to get rid of them. Alone in an abandoned subway car and tired of the physical reminder of who he was... 

It had been difficult at first. At least to explain to Erica why he was dragging his newly found claws across his neck. Only to watch the skin heal over. As if had never been marred in the first place. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Erica’s response had been perfectly reasonable considering. 

Isaac had reacted with guilt at first, jumping to his feet before hunching his shoulders as if to make himself smaller. Old habits were still strong then. 

“Don’t tell Derek,” had been his first thought. 

“I won’t, but have you lost your mind?” Erica asked. She was all short skirts and too red lipstick and more legs than anything. But it made her happy. And Isaac was the last one to judge trying to change yourself. 

“Look, you don’t have your seizures anymore. That stuff isn’t hanging over you and you look _right_ now. I can’t have these-these scars following me around,” Isaac had explained. 

Erica had seemed torn for a moment. But how could she not understand? 

“You’re not gonna make a habit of this, are you?” Erica moved to sit beside him, Isaac joining her. “Hurting yourself?” 

“No,” Isaac had known that for sure. “I’ve been hurt enough. I just… I just want to be clean again.” 

Erica nodded. Her bravado turning to contemplation when alone with her packmate. “Do you want me to help?” 

“What?” 

“Don’t you have scars on your back? From the…” She had seemed unable to finish her sentence. “Do you want me to help you reach them?” Erica had offered. 

Isaac was surprised by her immediate support. He supposed this is what friends were like. Isaac had pulled his shirt over his head, well, not his shirt, it was one of Derek’s, and turned to face away from her. Isaac only grew more self conscious when she remained quiet. 

“What?” Isaac said sharply. 

“I don’t blame you,” Erica admitted. Isaac said nothing. “For wanting to get rid of them. For what it’s worth, they look pretty badass.” 

“No they don’t,” Isaac said quietly. “They’re pathetic. There’s nothing badass about fucking curling up on the floor while your dad beats the shit out of you.” 

Erica was silent for a moment. “Yeah. Should’ve known better. There’s nothing badass about having a seizure in class and pissing yourself.” 

“We’re badasses now, though, right?” Isaac tried to lighten the mood, staring at his neck reflected in the metal of the walls. No more scars. That he could see in this shitty excuse for a mirror, anyways. 

“Sure hope so. ‘Cause this is gonna hurt,” Isaac could also see Erica’s eyes glowing over his shoulder. 

“Do it. I’m gonna get rid of these,” Isaac said, staring with pure resentment at the scars covering his hands. 

“Maybe it’ll distract you,” Erica said. Isaac let out a gasp as claws began to rake carefully across his back. “You know, burning would be faster.” 

“With what?” Isaac shot back. He let out the claws of his right hand and began to dig into the skin around his fingernails. It was pain, but it was pain he could control. 

All those bloody memories caused him so much pain. And anger. That too. As he carved carefully around his fingernails, watching the skin come away clean with a morbid sort of fascination, Isaac could only remember bitterly how no one had asked him why he’d come to school with band aids around every fingernail. Of course, no one had ever questioned him about anything. 

The relief, the control he had felt after he and Erica had finished tearing him apart so he could be made whole again. He had felt so _clean_. Almost to the point of narcissism, really. Isaac had been proud of his body. He had been with Allison without shame. He had been with his friends, his pack, without having to wonder if they were staring at the scars on his neck or if when Allison held his hand she was distracted by the ridges jutting around his fingernails. Those scars had lived and died with his pack. Only Erica had known, he doubted Derek had ever bothered to notice the scars in the first place, and on late nights, talking about how lonely they all were, Isaac had told Boyd. 

They were both dead. So was any record of the physical marks his father had left on his body. 

And now all he could think about was how much he missed them. Erica and Boyd. And her of course. Always her. It always came back to the people he had lost. Grief was what had gotten him here. 

Standing in another country in the apartment of men he really didn’t know, haunted by new wounds. Isaac was gripped by the strangest panic at his wounds not healing. Isaac was not afraid of being poisoned or being unable to heal again, he was terrified of being scarred. He viewed his body with dysmorphia. The way his body was now patched together was just as unsettling to him as it had been when it was torn apart. Isaac covered the stitches on his stomach with his hand. The stitches on his face and his shoulder remained. He couldn’t hide from something like this. 

Isaac put on the shirt Petyr had given him and turned away from the mirror. He returned to the hall. In the main room Petyr and Bhatt talked around the kitchen island, Bhatt wiping them down with bleach of the blood. 

“Isaac,” Bhatt greeted him. “Feeling okay?” 

“As much as I can be,” Isaac said stiffly. Even those words pulled painfully at the stitches holding his cheek together. He knew they had questions. That they had been talking about why he had turned up half dead. This is how it always went. He always ended up owing people answers. “I’m guess you want an explanation, right?”


	25. Chapter 25

“Isaac, I won’t make you tell us everything tonight, or ever necessarily, but I need to know who attacked you. It’s a matter of safety,” Bhatt told him.

“I don’t know a name or anything. It was three wolves. From the pack I met when I followed along on the hunt,” Isaac explained. Every word still tugged at his tattered cheek. “Two guys. One kind of short, the other built like a fucking linebacker.” 

The two Europeans looked confused at this. 

“Football player. American kind. Big. And a woman with them too. I don’t remember them from the hunt specifically, but I could smell their pack. And they definitely knew me,” Isaac said bitterly. “They took off, though. And it’s not like any of us are up to tracking them across Paris. _If_ they even stayed that long.” 

“Our goal isn’t to track them down, more like they don’t show up in one of our safe houses and hurt anyone else,” Bhatt told him. 

“And make sure our emissaries don’t give aid to people who would attack a child,” Petyr said, slamming dishes into the sink far more violently than necessary. Isaac flinched, but that kind of reaction could be shouldered as a mere annoyance by now. 

“Child,” Isaac scoffed. “I got in a few good hits before I had to run. I’m not helpless.” 

“That is not the point,” Petyr told him. “It does not change that they tried to kill you. It was an unfair fight to begin with and they very well nearly succeeded.” The man seemed to take the assault personally. “Three against one…” He muttered ruefully. 

“Petyr, let’s try and keep things calm,” Bhatt spoke warningly to his partner. “I think it would be best if we all got some rest. I will call the other houses and warn them against sheltering a group that matches that description. It is all we can do for now.” 

“You’re right as always, Ari,” Petyr sighed. “Isaac, do you need anything? If not, I can show you to your room, alright?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Isaac said, feeling somewhat appreciative of how upset the stranger had become on his behalf. 

As square footage in Paris was far from cheap, the house only had one other bed room. The goal of the space evidently to cram as much sleeping room as possible. Bunk beds were pressed against either wall and trundle beds were slid underneath each bottom bunk. Enough to house six comfortably and from the mats rolled up in the corner and sleeping bags, was prepared to house more. The closet, whose sliding shutter doors were open, housed a laundry basket as well as shelves of clean linens and spare blankets. 

“Everything is clean. All we ask is you clean up after yourself,” Petyr said. “We have a lot of spare pajamas, but it’s a bit rarer to have a guest’s old clothes be so…” 

“Blood stained?” Isaac offered. 

“I’ll soak them and try and wash them, if not, I’m sure I can find something that will fit you,” Petyr shrugged. 

“You don’t have to do all that,” Isaac mumbled. 

“It is no trouble,” Petyr waved him off. “I cannot promise I can save them. I think the only thing without holes in them are the jeans.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Isaac shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.” His mind wandered back to his bag. Which had all of his school things in it. All of his notes and pencils and he had really liked that bag. 

“Well, good night. We’re down the hall if you need anything, and you know where the bathroom is,” Petyr turned to leave. 

“Hey,” Isaac stopped him. “Thanks. A lot. I get it, you guys do this stuff all the time, but I have to say it.” 

Petyr looked as if he was about to say something but thought better of it. He gave Isaac a sort of affirming nod before heading down the hall. Things were a little awkward. Staying with these strangers. But over the past few years he’d be tossed between near strangers quite a few times. From Derek to the McCalls to the Argents to now Dr. Bhatt’s safehouse… It was getting oddly easy not to settle. 

Isaac sort of hesitated, standing in the room a little cautiously. Damn. He should’ve asked to borrow a phone charger. Where _was_ his phone? He felt equally uncomfortable wandering their empty apartment to find it, so he pushed the problem aside and curled on the bottom bunk of the bed away from the streetlight coming in through the window. The sheets smelled clean. Still, it was strange to think how many other werewolves had slept here. Hiding from the very people he had been staying with the day before. 

Laying on his back pressed painfully into the wounds arching over his shoulder. Laying on his stomach hurt the part of the slashes which moved up his chest and over his shoulder, as well as the wound on his ribs and stomach. And the one on his face. That was the worst. Still, his side was no better as on the one side it hurt his shoulder wounds and on the other, his ribs. Isaac eventually settled on his back, as it only hurt part of his shoulder. Mostly. 

Still, he was so terribly exhausted, from the blood loss and the adrenaline and the panic, that even physical pain could not keep him from sleep. 

And his exhaustion could not keep him from the nightmares. Adrenaline was like too much sugar before bed. It muddled dreams and brought things to the surface. Like fears of a basement different from the one he feared usually. One with white walls and chains hanging from the ceiling. Electricity pulsing through them and blood on surgical tables. 

The thought had crossed his mind before. Ever since Chris took him down there to patch up the bullet wound he’d wondered what circumstances it would take to wind up on the other side of the glass. 

It happened far too easily, evidently. Isaac had to be aware on some level that he was dreaming. That didn’t do much when he could feel the hands of hunters dragging him out of the cell and chaining him to a surgical table. They were all familiar faces. Chris pressed him into the table as he struggled so Romy and Jeanie could tie him down. Because of course his fears of abandonment and betrayal by his loved ones had to be demonstrated in vague, violent metaphors. 

“Get off! Get off of me!” Isaac snarled, kicking at them furiously. No one spoke to him. No one even _reacted_. He stopped protesting with a scream as a surgical knife traced the wound on his shoulder. 

Unlike the two shackles he had seen in the room Chris had brought him to, these hunters also wrapped a chain around his neck, spurring unfounded panic. 

“Let me go!” Isaac thrashed without care even when his wrists bled from yanking against the binds. “Please, please stop it!” 

Fake Romy whispered something to fake Jeanie. They merely watched as Chris continued to tear through Petyr’s careful stitching. There were other hunters in the room. Only watching. 

“Not real,” Isaac stammered through unsteady breaths for air. “It can’t be real.” 

That fact did not change the physical pain of the wound on his stomach being torn open or the feeling of a chain around his neck. Overlapping traumas really wasn’t fair. Isaac stopped fighting. Rather than hysteria he grew numb. Even as his cheek was once again torn in half. Compartmentalization was a talent of his. 

Then. They were gone. The room was empty except for sterile, harsh lighting and his bleeding body. At least he thought so, but there was someone there. He could feel it. Isaac couldn’t turn his head to look with the chain around his neck, but he knew. The same sense that made Isaac know when his father was around the corner or in the next room. A deep rooted defense. Still, he wasn’t prepared for who walked into view. Except who else could it be? How could it be anyone but _her_? 

“Please,” Isaac said it and didn’t know if he was begging her to leave or stay. 

Allison did not look like she had on that night, feeble and limp, with blood pooling around her and brushing her lips. She looked… normal. Dressed in a sweater and jeans she might have worn on any regular day, her hair curly and tucked behind her ear and god she was _smiling_ at him. Not in some sinister, warped version of her beauty but a pure, genuine smile. The one that haunted him and made his chest ache with a pain far different from those that seeped blood. 

“Hey, Ise,” she spoke so softly to him and even in his dreams it had been so _long_ since he had heard that voice. 

Isaac moved to speak but was saved from fumbling for speech by the blood from his cheek choking him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Allison brushed through his hair tenderly. “We’re gonna get out of here.” 

She pulled the chain from his neck and he could finally breathe. Allison pulled his arm around her shoulder, just as she had after his period of comatose and possession. She carried him not towards the stairs but towards the cell. 

“A-Allison,” even her name felt foreign to him. 

“I’ve got you,” Allison placed him at the back of the cell, sloped back and staring at the chains dangling from the ceiling. Then, she shut them in. 

Despite three of the four walls being porous glass the room still felt claustrophobic. Allison sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder. Isaac’s fears wavered as he paused to simply breathe her in, his hand, trembling and bloody going to run through her hair. 

“I’m so sorry, Al,” his voice trembled, bordering on sobs as he just held her tightly to his chest. 

“Don’t be,” Allison kissed his other hand and when she pulled away there was blood left behind. And Isaac couldn’t stop crying because it wasn’t _his_ blood on his hand. It was her’s. Because she had been stabbed through the stomach and had bled out. Because her internal injuries had made her cough blood. Because a pool of dark red was spreading across white tile. Because she was dead. And would stay that way. 

Isaac wasn’t sure if the dream ended there. It always blurred. All he knew was his chest was taut with grief and the blood had not gone away. That was what terrified him. Isaac woke up and there was hot pain on his back as if Chris had really cut through his stitches and there was blood covering the white sheets. Isaac had torn through the stitches on his cheek somehow during his struggling. Isaac cried out, cupping his face, in his panic falling off the narrow bed and hitting the ground hard. Isaac’s wounds did not take kindly to that. The stitches on his shoulder had come loose in his sleep, explaining the blood, but hardly calming his racing heart. 

Of course he couldn’t avoid the humiliation of Petyr rushing into the room to see what was wrong. 

“Isaac, what happened?” Petyr grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet. 

Within that span of time Bhatt had entered with a small handgun. Which he hastily lowered upon seeing that no one had broken in to murder them. 

“S-Sorry,” was all Isaac could think to say. “I’m okay.” 

“You are not. Sit down. We need to patch you up,” Petyr sat him back on his bunk despite everything being ruined by blood. 

“Nightmare?” Bhatt, of course, knew. It was a common topic when it came to his declining mental health. 

“Been a rough night. That’s what usually follows,” Isaac said, hands wringed in his lap. Petyr, gently checked over the tear on his cheek and the split on his back. He stood, evidently going to get more stitching. 

“Was it the attack?” Bhatt asked. 

“No. That’d be too easy. I think it was because of Chris locking me out,” Isaac told him. 

“Far from surprising,” Bhatt sighed. He didn’t seem to know what to do with the gun hanging limply at his side. 

“Never saw you as a sharpshooter, doc,” Isaac distracted from the concern far too centered on him. 

“Ah, well. With the kind of company we keep and the unwelcome guests that sometimes follow, I needed a defense,” Bhatt said. “I am not a fan,” he admitted. “Took me a minute to take it out of the safe.” 

Petyr shouldered past him, kneeling down beside him. “Do you want to bite something or maybe Ari can get something for the pain…?” 

“No just do it,” Isaac said sharply. Still, he inhaled sharply as Petyr sewed his wounds shut for the second time that night. Bhatt also returned with rolls of gauze and medical tape. 

“Should hold back anymore bleeding,” Bhatt told him. 

“Sorry. Ruined your sheets,” Isaac said. 

“They’re one of the things we stock up on. And a dust sheet, so the mattress is okay. People come here and a lot of times they bleed,” Bhatt shrugged. 

It was strange to have these two men still fussing over him. Isaac pulled his shirt over his head, already stained red, and Bhatt was wrapping his shoulder in gauze just as Petyr sewed his cheek shut. 

“When do you think I’m gonna heal?” Isaac asked. It had been so long since he had been in long term physical pain. 

Bhatt seemed to be thinking carefully. “It is not a physical curse stopping you I don’t think. Do you want to heal?” 

“Do I-? Yeah, I want to heal,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

“There’s something off with you right now, Isaac. Something different. Have you ever struggle to heal before? Or known someone who couldn’t?” Bhatt asked. Isaac wasn’t sure if he was talking to therapist-Bhatt or emissary-Bhatt. 

“Scott. I didn’t know why at the time, but I thought that the alpha pack had poisoned him or something. That he was dying and it was their fault,” Isaac said, putting on the clean shirt offered to him. “He wasn’t healing. Because he thought Derek was dead, I think he said.” Isaac thought back on one of the worst nights of his life. “When she died, I didn’t heal. And I was torn to shreds, maybe as much as I am now, but I couldn’t fix it. She didn’t come back like Derek did.” 

“When did you heal?” 

“I don’t know. In the morning, I was okay,” Isaac didn’t want to think back on that night. Because of this, Isaac didn't realize that he had started healing when Melissa had held onto him and Scott until they could finally sleep. 

“Did something happen that night? A certain dream or change? Something other than…?” 

“You know what I love to do at three in the morning? In a stranger’s apartment and in a lot of pain? Talk about the night my girlfriend died.” 

“Point taken,” Bhatt said. “Therapist’s habit. To ask questions.” 

“Well, Ari, I think we should stick with our plan to sort all this out in the morning,” Petyr reasoned. 

“Isaac, are you going to be okay?” Bhatt asked. 

“Obviously not,” Isaac told him. “But I am fucking _tired_. So your boyfriend is right. Let’s just deal with this tomorrow.” 

“Alright, but if something happens, if the stitching tears or even another dream, feel free to come get us,” Bhatt offered. 

Isaac nodded but there was no way he would accept. Even if he started bleeding again he’d rather sew himself up than wake the couple. 

“Actually, one thing, did your people have any trouble tonight? Have they seen anything?” Isaac asked before they left. Mostly out of some semblance of guilt. If some poor emissary who was just trying to help got hurt, Isaac would feel responsible for bringing the issue to light. 

Bhatt looked oddly uncomfortable at his question, looking to Petyr for a moment and they somehow communicated silently through a look. “Three wolves who matched the description you gave were staying at another safe house for a few days. Not too far from here, actually. When I called to check in, the woman who runs that house had been going to call me too. She said her charges had come home a little worse for wear, saying they got in a fight with a werewolf who works for the Argents.” 

Isaac didn’t answer to that because arguably they weren’t wrong. 

Petyr spoke up, “and Ari told her that those wolves had ganged up on a seventeen year old and almost killed him. Actually, our girl was rather angry. She’d been protecting them for days. Told them where the Argents _lived_ so they could stay out of their way. If they’d gotten to you there I don’t think she would have been able to forgive herself.” 

Isaac’s guilt increased at this. “Is she okay? Did she confront them?” 

“She told them to leave,” Bhatt said. “That she was there to protect people in need of help, not aid criminals.” 

“Is she okay?” Isaac asked again more intently now. 

“She’s fine, Isaac. We can take care of ourselves. Those wolves knew better than to pick a fight with an emissary far older and smarter than them,” Bhatt seemed to warm at this, evidently somewhat proud. “And the other outposts know not to let them in.” 

Isaac didn’t feel safer hearing this. Or some semblance of justice. It wasn’t even like these measures would prevent them from hurting anyone else, because honestly Isaac didn’t think they wanted to hurt people. They targeted Isaac because to them it was personal. Still, it was somewhat nice to know the bastards weren’t being taken care of or taking bunks from wolves that actually deserved help. 

“Well, know that they’re not welcome in the city. And I doubt they would dare go near you again,” Bhatt said. “I bet it surprised them that you’re protected by the hunters _and_ the emissaries.” 

“Don’t know about the former,” Isaac said, more than a little bitter. 

“How about you grab another bunk? I’ll try and soak these too,” Petyr moved to take away the bloodied blankets and pillow. 

“Are you still in pain?” Bhatt asked again. 

“I’m fine,” Isaac said dismissively. “I just want to try and get some more sleep.” 

“Okay. Good night, Isaac. Try not to hurt yourself,” Bhatt left with that final caution directed at Isaac’s tendency to tear through stitches. 

Isaac migrated across the room to the other bunk, trying again to sleep. A slow battle, particularly after the torments of his last attempt. It was a good thing that he stayed there rather than wander, as the conversation between the two men outside would have only fed into his gloom. Well, if he had been a bit better at french. 

“Why do you think he isn’t healing?” Petyr asked his partner, adding the sheets to a bucket of watered hydrogen peroxide. 

“That is not hard to figure out. His guardian locked him out at the worst possible time,” Ari told him. “But I don’t think Isaac knows how to help himself. He can force himself to survive, yes, but with things like these it takes more emotional survival. Isaac doesn’t know how to comfort himself.” 

Petyr worked at the stains, frowning. Ari came up behind him, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and resting his head on Petyr’s shoulder. “Do you think his guardian’s intentions were permanent or temporary?” 

“I only met the man once, but he seemed honest enough,” Ari had been having the same concerns. “I have no idea why Isaac was out so late, alone, or why Chris would lock him out in the first place. It doesn’t sound like a mistake. That’s what worries me. Something’s been going on. Something that he hasn’t been telling me.” 

“I thought your clients told you everything?” Petyr teased. 

Ari was too lost in thought to respond to the jest. “Isaac has been very isolated as of late. During our sessions lately, I thought he was being honest. Said he was lonely and bored and irritated with being stuck at school or home. He didn’t talk about what he was actually doing. Or if he and Chris had been fighting or…” 

“Hey, hey,” Petyr spoke softly turning away from his work. “None of this is your fault. You saved that kid’s life,” he kissed the shorter man on the forehead. “And tomorrow, we’ll give that Chris some hell,” he said, hugging him with his chin pressed into the top of Ari’s head. 

“Petyr,” Ari warned. “We’re going to help Isaac.” 

“Yeah. That too.”


	26. Chapter 26

Isaac had not healed by morning. His body still ached, but his wounds had at least stopped bleeding. Meaning his body would heal, if not instantly. Humanly, even. Pale light came in through the thin white curtains, bright enough that it had to be relatively far into the day. Isaac sat up, wincing as the soreness of his wounds protested at the movement. He listened for a moment, not wanting to wander Bhatt’s apartment if the couple wasn’t awake yet.

He heard conversation in the kitchen. Isaac stood, lifting his shirt - another wince at that motion as well - and was glad to find the bandages had remained white through the rest of the night. 

The kitchen was illuminated by the soft morning light giving the apartment a clean, cozy glow. Bhatt sat at the kitchen island where Isaac’s bloodied body had been laid the night before. He had coffee in hand and his phone in the other. Bhatt gave Isaac a nod of acknowledgement before continuing his phone call. 

Isaac realized his own phone had been placed on the counter some time in the night. There was a smear of dried blood on the screen from his desperate call to Bhatt. A call it felt like he had made days ago instead of hours. He moved to turn it on. Dead. No surprise there. Bhatt continued talking on the phone, far too quickly for Isaac to translate, but he stood, going over to a drawer and tossing a charger to Isaac before pointing to a coffee pot, inviting him to get some. 

Isaac plugged in his phone before grabbing a mug, sitting on the opposite end of the counter and letting himself ease into the morning. Isaac’s first thought was not of Chris, but of the school. Would they actually try and call the Argents when he didn’t show up that morning, or had they given up? 

Isaac moved to sip the coffee in front of him. He was hungry too. Yet he stopped himself, his tongue finding the wound stretching across the inside of his cheek. Best not. As he held the coffee mug gloomily, he noticed with some guilt claw marks he had bore into the countertops the night before. Bhatt had hung up the phone. 

“Sorry about that. Had to cancel an appointment,” Bhatt told him. 

“It’s okay. Sorry about your counters,” Isaac muttered, shoulders somewhat hunched forward. 

Bhatt waved him off. “We lost our security deposit on this place a long time ago.” 

“Where’s Petyr?” Isaac asked. 

“Work,” Bhatt said. 

“Oh,” more guilt returned to Isaac. “Sorry I kept him up so late then…” 

“No need to apologize, Isaac,” Bhatt said again, more intently now. “How’re you feeling?” 

“I’m alive,” Isaac shrugged. That hurt the wounds on his shoulder and chest. Fuck. 

“Cut the stoic act. Are you in any pain?” Bhatt didn’t tolerate his bullshit. 

“Yeah,” Isaac spoke grudgingly. Each movement, breath, or word caused pain on one of the wounds. 

Bhatt returned with the mason jar of green paste. “We could redress the bandages now. Clean off the old stuff and the dried blood, start fresh?” 

Isaac did not reply because his phone turned on to several notifications. Three calls. Two voicemails. A smattering of texts. They both stared. 

Isaac didn’t bother to respond to Bhatt’s inquiry. Instead he opened his phone and went to his voicemail box. All the calls were from Chris. Isaac went to the first voicemail. 

“Isaac, the house is open to you. Please come back when you can. We need to talk face to face. I’ll be waiting. If you need space, at least call and check in, thanks,” Chris was to the point. Isaac felt resentment towards the man at how callous he was being. Chris spoke like it was business. A meeting they had to have about some arrangement. The call had been around seven thirty that morning. The second message had been after a call around eight. 

“We found blood outside the house. You have to call me right now. Save your anger for later, you have to tell me you’re okay,” the shift in tone from the first message to the second was jarring. The first had been a father forcing himself to be stern and not apologize. The second was a terrified man filled with regret. “I can come and get you, wherever you are. Isaac, just-just fucking call me. Please.” Chris was begging him to be okay. 

The third call came with no voicemail from around nine thirty that morning. It was currently a little past eleven. 

The text messages were from Romy. That was what he dreaded the most. 

_Where are you?_

_If you’re fucking around I swear to god_

_Everyone is freaking out. There’s blood all over the wall._

_They’re talking about search parties now. Even the normal police. Jeanie wants me to tell you to come home before you cause any more trouble._

_Isaac you better not be dead somewhere. We can’t deal with that. And if you are I’m sorry. I should’ve got my head out of my ass and talked to you. I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance._

_so you better not be dead because it’s not often you get an apology from me. Come home. Alive, if you can manage it._

The messages were spaced fairly evenly, every ten minutes or so that morning, the last two had come about an hour after the rest. As if in that time she had really been terrified for him. 

And now Isaac was afraid. This strange, old fear of the consequences of not telling a parent where you were. Of angry voicemails and what happened when you finally called back. 

And on a less trauma based front, he didn’t know what any of this meant. If Chris would actually be angry or if Romy’s lapse in silence would cease the moment he got home. If the Argents would resent him even more for making them search for him. 

“Isaac?” 

Bhatt snapped him back to the present. 

“Are you alright?” Bhatt asked. 

Isaac felt the word _fine_ die before even leaving his lips. He shrugged. 

“Chris?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac forced himself to speak. “He… they saw the blood outside. He’s been trying to call me and I have no idea what’s happened between then and now.” 

Bhatt’s eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “If you’re not comfortable calling him, would you like me to? Just so they know you’re alright?” 

Isaac wanted so badly to say _no, I can do it. I’ll call him,_ but really, Isaac was still so upset over what Chris had done. He was angry and bitter and oddly remorseful. He thought that should he face Chris, on the phone or in person, he would shrink away from Chris and somehow end up blaming himself for that door being locked. Why did Isaac always wind up feeling responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened to him? 

Still, actually asking for help was another beast entirely. To admit that weakness and defeat. That he wanted help. Not even needed, because really he could make himself call Chris, but _wanted_ someone to make things a little easier for him. 

Isaac was tired of this yawning hole inside of him, a gap that made every task a burden and every moment of love so hard to accept. That void which, even when bleeding out, had made calling Bhatt for help difficult. He wanted to do better. 

“Could you?” Isaac asked. 

“Sure, Isaac,” Bhatt seemed to understand what a daunting task that request had been for his patient. “Do you want me to have Chris come here?” Isaac said nothing. “Or I could go with you to the house?” Still, a disheartened shrug and no answers. “Maybe I could just call and tell him you’re okay and just need some time.” 

“No,” that Isaac was sure of. “I don’t want to just put this off and drag my feet until things work themselves out. I’ll be waiting forever.” 

Bhatt seemed to warm to this sentiment. “You’re allowed to pause, Isaac.” 

“Look, doc, you aren’t on the clock right now, so can you not therapize me?” Isaac huffed. “Can you call him and tell him I’m alive and pissed and will be back at the house later today. And if you feel the need to throw in a few details about how I almost fucking died, feel free.” 

Bhatt, almost amused by Isaac’s remarks, went to call. “How about you listen in and if you need to speak up you can, alright?” Isaac nodded. Bhatt dialed. 

“Isaac?” Was the first word out of the receiver. 

“Isaac is okay,” Bhatt reassured him immediately. If only so he could get right down to business. 

“Who am I speaking to? Where is he?” Chris was sharp. 

Bhatt was sharper. “This is Dr. Bhatt. Isaac spent the night at my apartment because he couldn’t get home and was in very bad shape.” 

“Christ…” Isaac almost couldn’t hear him mutter on the other line. “Is he okay?” 

Bhatt glanced to Isaac before continuing. “Relatively. Not too happy with you at the moment. And I can’t blame him.” 

Isaac smiled a little awkwardly at this. 

“I think Isaac will come to your house later today,” Bhatt said. Isaac was grateful that Bhatt had said ‘I think’. That gave Isaac room not to go if he so chose. “I’ll come with him as well, if he wants me,” another show of support Isaac appreciated. “There’s a lot to be discussed.” 

“What happened?” Chris pushed. “There was blood outside the house- you said Isaac was in bad shape. What happened?” 

“I think Isaac can explain that to you. If he so chooses,” Bhatt said. There were many other things Bhatt wanted to say to the man. Accusatory things, even threats, but refrained since Isaac was listening. “Another thing to talk about next to your terrible choices as a parent.” He had to get in one dig. As Isaac said, he was off the clock. He could be as unprofessional as he wanted. 

Isaac realized how seriously Chris was taking this as he did not object to Bhatt’s claim about his parenting. 

“Okay,” Chris sounded so… compliant. A symptom of desperation which Isaac knew well. “Tell him…” A sigh came over as a crackle of static. “Tell him I’m sorry. And I’ll be at the house waiting whenever he’s ready.” 

Bhatt stared at Isaac, silent across the counter. “I will,” Bhatt hung up. 

Isaac wasn’t sure what to say now. Chris didn’t sound angry, but Isaac had made them run across Paris looking for him. 

“Isaac?” 

“I’m okay,” Isaac said immediately. “We should change the bandages. Like you said.” 

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Bhatt offered. 

Isaac did not. But he did want to know why whenever something bad happened to him, he was always on the verge of falling apart in the aftermath. He wanted to know why and how he could stop it, but he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. 

Bhatt had him sit on their bathroom counter. Isaac pulled his shirt off and they cut through the gauze. 

“This is probably going to hurt,” Bhatt warned before they cut the gauze away from the wounds they had dried to. Isaac gritted his teeth as it tugged painfully at the stitches. 

“Do you want help? Cleaning them and putting the medicine back on?” Bhatt asked. 

It was strange. That kind of help and support seemed so personal. Familial. Maybe he could see Melissa helping him patch up, but here things were so different. It wasn’t like his dad had been there to clean up skinned knees or help him find a bandaid. That would be counterproductive considering his goal was to cause the cuts and scrapes. Even before his father had gotten that bad, even when Cam was still there, his father was too distant after mom died to parent like that. Maybe his mom had been there to take care of them when they got sick, or even before she died maybe his father had actually been a parent, but he couldn’t remember those days. Not really. They were nothing more than a blur of heartache now punctuated by anger and resentment at his family for either leaving him or hurting him. 

And here was this man he had known for mere months. His therapist who he met once a week and had gone to for help very unwillingly. Offering to help him remove all the dried blood marring his skin and try and stop his pain and just offer some _care_. Someone not just caring, but taking care of him beyond the expected, was just so foreign. To the point of discomfort because how was he supposed to deal with someone else caring for him? 

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to. I can just help you wrap the gauze maybe?” Bhatt seemed to sense his conflict. 

“Yeah. Okay,” Isaac nodded. “I can’t… I can’t get to the stitches on my back,” Isaac admitted. 

“Okay, that’s fine. We don’t want to soak the stitches, but we can at least clean off the blood,” Bhatt said. 

Bhatt got the washcloth he had used the night before as it was already stained faintly pink and green, despite having been washed with his clothes. It hurt to touch the wounds even gently, so it wasn’t as clean as he’d like, but at least whatever dried blood had remained beneath the paste was gone. He and Bhatt reapplied and Isaac tried not to feel uncomfortable having someone help him. He’d spent time in the hospital. Sure, he had been in a coma so he didn’t remember some random nurse redressing the burns covering like, half of his body, but still. 

It felt good to be clean. The fresh, white gauze over the wounds which burned far less now with the salve applied. Still, when would he be _healed_? That was his primary concern. 

“Isaac, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, but eventually I will have to return to work and you to school,” Bhatt told him as they resettled in the doctor’s living room. 

“I’m not going to school today,” Isaac said. “Fuck. I lost my bag. It had all my school stuff in it. All my books, my phone charger…” 

“Do you want to go looking for it?” Bhatt offered. 

Isaac hesitated. It would be something to do while he avoided returning to the house and facing Chris. “I’m not totally sure where I was. I just turned the first corner I could find and then when I ran, I just got lucky that I wasn’t too far from the house.” 

“Do you want to try?” 

“Yeah. It was near this bar, over on Rue de L'Eglise,” Isaac told him. “I mean, I started there. But I didn’t get far.” 

“Is that where you were, Isaac?” Bhatt seemed curious. Trying to figure out what his patient had been hiding from him. “At a bar? You can’t get drunk.” 

“I was just trying to get out of my head for a little while,” Isaac deflected. 

“Alright,” Bhatt didn’t press. 

“I don’t know what I can wear. Are any of my clothes not totally bloodstained?” Isaac asked. 

Bhatt frowned, before going to their laundry closet and returning Isaac’s clothes to him. The shirt and jacket were both tattered and Isaac immediately threw them out. A shame, really, since Isaac had really liked that jacket. His jeans, the only thing without actual holes in them, had long lines of dark stains from the blood dripping from his body. They were paler than they had been last night, but still beyond saving. 

“Do you… do you have anything I could borrow?” Isaac forced himself to ask for even more help. 

“Well, nothing I have would fit you,” Bhatt said. “I can find something of Petyr’s. You might have to wear a belt, and the shirt might be too big.” 

“I don’t care,” Isaac said. 

Bhatt’s boyfriend had an affinity for floral button ups. The closest thing to ‘neutral’ in the man’s closet was a black shirt covered in pale pink roses. Isaac didn’t mind, even though the shirt was far too broad for his thinner frame, and he also had to take a belt from Petyr’s wardrobe as otherwise the jeans would fall off of him. The man was built, to say the least. Isaac was never completely lean, digging graves was tough work, but he had still been thinner rather than fitter since he didn’t really get to eat properly at the Lahey house, but since having three square meals a day and a more wolfishly active lifestyle, he had evened out considerably. Not enough to make up for Petyr’s rocky horror level of buff and handsome. 

“Sorry it’s the best I can do,” Bhatt was apologetic. “Unless you want to wear jeans about sixteen centimeters too short and an oversized crop top.” 

“It’s fine, doc,” Isaac shrugged him off. “You don’t have to drive me around Paris looking for my bag. It probably won’t even be there.” 

“I cancelled my work for the morning,” Bhatt did the same. “I have nothing better to do.” 

Isaac grudgingly accepted this. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

“Thank me if we find it,” Bhatt replied. 

Isaac managed to guide Bhatt to the bar he had been in the night before. From there, Bhatt parked and the pair tried to retrace Isaac’s steps. It was midmorning on a weekday so the streets were far less crowded. Isaac got a few odd looks for the white patch of gauze taped over his cheek. Best not to scare the locals with his gnarly stitches. Isaac felt himself tense as they turned a familiar corner. 

“Down here,” Isaac knew which alleyway it was now. It seemed no one had bothered to peer too closely down that side street since last night, as there were no police investigating the blood - and claw marks - marring the walls and ground of the alley. 

He hated how much the echoes claws dragging across the concrete reminded him of an old basement and different struggles. 

Bhatt stayed back, giving him some space as he headed down the alley. It was empty except for some garbage bins leading up to the fence dividing the street and trapping him with his attackers. His bag was left at the base of the fence. It must have slipped off his shoulder when that woman had yanked him back onto the ground. It did not have blood on it, somehow, as the scuffle had taken place a bit closer to the street. Although it was filthy from laying in the dirt and had been stepped on for sure. Isaac shook it off as if that would somehow clean the damp from it before slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Nothing taken?” Bhatt asked. 

“Didn’t have anything of value in it. Unless those werewolves wanted to steal my precalc homework,” Isaac told him. “Had my phone in my pocket and I left my wallet at home.” 

“Good,” Bhatt said. Isaac knew what was supposed to come next. “Do you want to go to the Argent’s? Or back to mine?” 

Isaac shrugged. He didn’t know what he wanted. 

“Okay. Petyr should be home soon. He said earlier he wanted to come with, so how about we just wait for him?” Bhatt offered him an out. 

Isaac did not question why Petyr would want to come with his boyfriend to a house of dangerous hunters. It was reasonable to be wary. Isaac was just surprised the pair wanted to take him there at all. Wouldn’t it be so much easier on them to just drop him off and get out of there? 

Bhatt was right. Petyr came home within the hour, wearing turquoise scrubs. 

“Were you two waiting on me?” Petyr asked, hesitating before taking off his jacket. 

“Yes. You wanted to come? When we took Isaac back?” Bhatt said. 

They had killed time by getting Isaac something to eat, since the last thing he’d had was a muffin the day before. God, that felt like weeks ago. Isaac was still in pain, but he was better. And since he and Bhatt had rewrapped his wounds, he had healed. Not by much, but far more than a human would have by now. 

“I did, but I didn’t mean to make you wait for me. You should’ve called. I would have come home sooner,” Petyr frowned. 

“Hey, I don’t mind having a reason to put stuff off,” Isaac told him. 

“Not for much longer,” Petyr said. “Let me get changed.” 

Petyr left to their bedroom. 

“Are you ready to do this, Isaac? Like I said, you can stay here. Your anger is warranted. And do you really know you’ll be safe there after everything?” Bhatt said. “I can’t remove you from that house as is, but I want to make sure certain things aren’t blinding you to an unhealthy environment.” 

“Certain things? Like what, the fact that I don’t really know what a healthy household looks like? That until Chris starts smacking me around, I won’t think the Argents are abusive?” Isaac said more harshly than he needed to. “I know what I got myself into. Maybe it isn’t some wholesome perfect family where we all sit in a circle and talk about our feelings, but I’m not ready to just leave them.” Maybe he was saying it for Chris, maybe because of the texts he’d gotten from Romy, but he had some warped sense of loyalty to that house of people who seemed to hate him. Maybe that was the blindness Bhatt seemed to worry about. Maybe he really was in over his head or rooting himself in another toxic household. Either way, Isaac had no plan of moving in with Bhatt in their tiny apartment. Leaving Chris, his only link to what he knew. 

“Okay. Still, you and Chris have a lot to talk about. I only ask you keep your guard up,” Bhatt said carefully. 

“Always,” Isaac said.


	27. Chapter 27

“Alright. Let’s go,” Petyr returned, wearing a far more vibrant striped shirt than what Isaac had salvaged from his wardrobe. Isaac didn’t move even as Bhatt and Petyr headed for the front door.

“Isaac? Are you okay doing this?” Bhatt asked. 

“No. But when has that ever stopped me?” Isaac followed them out. 

The night before Isaac could only be grateful that Bhatt lived so close to the Argent’s, now he wished it were farther. 

Isaac hung back as they entered the courtyard. 

“So this is their lair?” Petyr said sarcastically. “Thought it would be more menacing. More evil murderous hunter vibes.” 

Isaac felt no need to defend the house and didn’t even have the chance as Gabriel was rushing out of the hall to greet him. 

“Isaac! Chris had said you’d called- but we weren’t sure,” Gabriel, whose sensitivity overcame the fact that they barely knew each other, put his arms on Isaac’s shoulders, looking over him carefully. “What happened?” His hand went to the bandage covering Isaac’s face, Petyr stepped forward with some level of defensiveness, he seemed about to say something. 

“I’m okay, Gabe,” Isaac pushed him back. “Where’s Chris?” 

“He’s-” 

“Isaac,” Chris came rushing out, looking actually pale at the sight of Isaac with a bandage on. The first thing he said was “why aren’t you healing?” 

Chris looked to Bhatt and Petyr almost accusingly. 

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private for you all to talk,” Gabriel said with a nervous sort of laugh. 

Bhatt put a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, “are you okay with this, Isaac?” He asked. Chris bristled at the implication that he was the one Isaac needed protection from. 

Isaac didn’t want to defend either of them. He was pissed at Chris, but he didn’t think Bhatt and Petyr had the right to judge him so harshly. Although part of Isaac wondered if he was wrong to defend Chris. If some warped sense of loyalty or damaged expectations made him think _it really isn’t all that bad_. 

“My wife is out for the day, we can use her office,” Gabe led them upstairs to Valerie’s office before leaving quickly, as if already fleeing confrontation. 

“Isaac- are you okay? What happened?” Chris, standing on the other side of the desk, immediately questioned him. 

Isaac remained standing, refusing to sit and pretend this was simply a rational discussion. Chris was asking _him_ what had happened? 

“Are you kidding me?” Isaac snapped. “What happened? You locked me out- that’s what happened!” 

Chris, who had sounded so remorseful on the phone with Bhatt mere hours ago, now looked affronted. “What was I supposed to do, Isaac?! You refused to listen to me and I knew it was going to get you hurt in a way you couldn’t come back from!” 

“Good thing you left me on the street to bleed to death, then,” Isaac said. “Imagine if I’d gotten hurt ‘in a way I couldn’t come back from’,” he spoke mockingly, unable to express even his anger without some cynical filter. 

“You refused to listen to me! You wouldn’t come home until late, and I’d stay up waiting, thinking about what the hell I’m supposed to tell Melissa when you never turned up,” Chris had to cut deep. Had to drag Melissa into this because she was the only parent he’d actually listened to. “You can’t blame me for your choices.” 

Isaac did not have a retort ready for that one. He was the one who had decided to stay out late and look for trouble. 

“You are not responsible for Isaac’s choices, Mr. Argent, but you are responsible for him,” Bhatt stepped in, his words calm if not a little cold. “He is in your custody so his wellbeing falls to you. And even if Isaac made some… bad choices, you’re supposed to be there to regulate the consequences.” 

“What would you know about that, Dr. Bhatt?” Chris replied with the same icy civility. “Are you a parent?” Bhatt had no reply. “Has Isaac told you about his recent endeavors?” More silence. “He barely goes to school, and half the time he doesn’t come home until well past midnight. Usually a little bloody.” 

Bhatt did not waver. He did not look to Isaac for answers or make a retort to Chris’s claims. Still, that was new information to him. And he was supposed to be Isaac’s therapist. 

“And last I checked, I think we can both agree that locking Isaac up at home isn’t exactly healthy considering his history,” Chris said. “Am I supposed to follow him to school? Make sure he stays there and then drag him home?” 

“You didn’t even pick up the phone,” Isaac spoke and the two adults fell silent. “I called you because I fucking needed help and you didn’t answer. What do you call that? Tough love?” Chris said nothing, his hands pressed into the desk and his eyes bore holes into the wood. “I’ve been through the ‘tough love’ act a dozen times over and each time it was justified, right?” Isaac knew he was pushing a bit far. Chris locking him out one night was no way as bad as what his father had done to him. 

“Isaac, you know that isn’t fair. You were the one going on and on about how I couldn’t ground you. I couldn’t’ve known that something like this was going to happen-” Chris was cut off. 

“It doesn’t matter if you did not know, you are responsible for this,” Petyr spoke harshly, radiating anger. An intimidating sight from the friendly giant. It seemed to shock Chris, who seemed to think Petyr didn’t have the right. 

“Who are you to question my decisions? No, actually, who _are_ you? What entitles you to come into my home and attack me with this superiority complex?” Chris grew more hostile. He and Bhatt had masqueraded some form of civility but Petyr got right to the point and Chris followed in suit. 

“I’m the one who picked up the phone! Khuy-” Petyr snapped, followed by a muttered curse in what Isaac assumed was Ukrainian. “Your kid had to call a stranger to come pick him up because he was bleeding to death outside of his house. I was the one who carried him into our home and tried to help him. I was the one who sewed his wounds shut. Between the two of us, I’m the only one with the right to question how you’ve treated Isaac.” 

“Isaac got himself into trouble as he as been for days now. And you blame me for not answering the phone so he could worm his way back inside and hurt himself again tomorrow?” Chris scrambled for a retort. 

“You fucking people,” Petyr snarled and Isaac had to give Chris credit for not being intimidated by the man bearing down on him. “If it were my choice to make, I would not let any of you near Isaac. He is not one of you so you do not value his life. Of course you do not mind locking the dog outside for a night. It’s not like he is human, right? Hunters… you’re all the same.” Isaac knew this world well enough that there was justifications behind Petyr’s words, but what he didn’t know. 

“Petyr,” Bhatt reached out, holding onto his partner’s arm. “This isn’t helping anything.” Petyr stepped back, but seemed no less hostile. 

“I didn’t lock him out out of carelessness,” Chris seemed to need to defend himself against the pair. “Keeping him home, locking him in his room -we both know trying to simply ground a werewolf is all but worthless- so how could I trap a kid after everything that’s happened to him?” 

Isaac felt an inexplicable urge to laugh. “Are you serious?” The three all looked at him like he was a bit insane. “Wait- so you actually thought that the only issue here would be- what, triggering me by locking me in my room?” 

Silence. None of them were sure of how to respond. 

“Little newsflash for you, Chris- my dad did a whole lot more than shove me in a fucking freezer. Hell, actually, he’s locked me out before too. Enough that I had to keep my window open. When I saw the gate was shut, it wasn’t anything new to me. Just sucks it happened to line up with a bad fight. So if your goal was to save my tragic little soul from my own trauma, you failed miserably,” Isaac spoke with a dry wit because the only alternative was a breakdown. “But part of me says I shouldn’t be angry with you. ‘Cause it’s my fault that I stayed out late and got into fights. But maybe that’s my own fucked up head trying to justify you doing something my dad might’ve.” 

Chris said nothing. What was there to say? Despite his justifications, the fact of the matter was he locked out a vulnerable kid and Isaac had been in serious danger because of it. 

“Isaac, do you want to come back here, or spend another night at ours?” Bhatt was the first to speak. Chris did not object. 

“I’m gonna stay here,” Isaac said. 

“Alright, then,” Bhatt did not try and stop him, but he did turn to Chris. “Locking out a child qualifies as neglect, Mr. Argent. If I hear any word of more abusive behavior on your end, I’ll call the authorities. Hunters or not.” 

Chris nodded grudgingly before turning to the less emotionally charged problem at hand. “What happened to you? Why aren’t you healing?” 

“Got attacked by a few wolves,” Isaac shrugged nonchalantly despite even that tugging at his stitches. 

“He could’ve died,” Petyr muttered, still seeming to hold back. “Blood loss alone…” 

“What wolves?” Chris asked sharply. 

“I’m not telling you,” Isaac said. And he realized he truly meant it. “I don’t want your family trying to get revenge against a pack that’s already been hurt enough by you.” He was angry at the people who had attacked him, but he didn’t want the Argents following them or trying to prosecute them. 

“They tried to kill you, Isaac,” Petyr seemed just as shocked by his decision. 

“They didn’t,” Isaac said. “So, we’re just going to leave it. They won’t be back.” 

“Was there an alpha?” Chris asked. 

“No. And I don’t know why I’m not healing and Dr. Bhatt doesn’t know either. Blames it on my emotional issues. Total therapist move,” Isaac said. 

“Well, I’d like to have our medics check,” Chris said. 

“Didn’t think you knew how to take care of werewolves,” Petyr got in another dig. 

“Am I gonna have to make you wait in the car?” Bhatt scolded. 

“Since it’s my body, shouldn’t I get a say?” Isaac said. “What’re they gonna do to fix me?” He asked Chris. 

“Well, I think we need to check you over at least,” Chris said stiffly. 

Isaac went along with it. The Argent’s medical ward was at the back of the second floor with long windows lining the top of the back wall and other windows into the hallway facing the courtyard. Their medic was a man he recognized vaguely. He first peeled back the gauze covering Isaac’s cheek. 

Bhatt shuffled in irritation, “we just rewrapped his injuries…” 

“You don’t have to stay,” Chris snapped. 

“Hey. Both of you shut up,” Isaac said. He was equally irritated of people just bickering over who actually gave a shit about him. Isaac winced as the medic began to pull off the bandages covering Isaac’s torso. 

Chris circled the bed Isaac was sitting on as more of the wounds were uncovered. 

“What is that?” Chris asked, referring to the paste the emissaries had put on the wounds. 

“Something to help with the pain. I’m guessing your people don’t have much of that, do they?” Petyr said. 

“Don’t wash it off,” Bhatt said sharply to the medic. 

“You did the stitching?” Chris asked Petyr. 

“Yes. It’s why his organs are still inside of his body instead of out,” Petyr said defensively. 

Chris huffed, arms crossed over his chest, evidently holding back another comment. Isaac was getting utterly fed up with these people arguing over him. 

“Okay. I’m done here,” Isaac stood, not even bothering to cover the wounds in gauze again. “You can bicker about who fucked me up more, but I am _done_ dealing with all of you.” 

Isaac moved to leave before his pride gave him a pause. “Dr. Bhatt, Petyr, I owe you one. So. Thanks.” 

And with that Isaac left. He was angry at Chris and annoyed with the constant scuffling between him and the emissaries. He was in pain and it refused to amend itself. And honestly he was resisting the urge to head back out onto the streets and refuse to come home. Of course that was what got him into trouble in the first place. 

Isaac made it as far as the courtyard before he was stopped. Out of everyone, it was Max. He hadn't spoken with the kid in a while, considering everyone was dead set on avoiding the local werewolf. 

“You’re not dead!” Max seemed delighted by the fact. He had to stand on his tiptoes to try and get a better look at the now exposed stitches on Isaac’s cheek. “Does that hurt?” 

“Yeah,” Isaac said, a little thrown off by the conversation. 

“There was blood outside. It scared everybody,” Max told him. He bounced back on his heels. “Y’know I don’t think you’re scary. But I’ve never met a werewolf before.” 

“Really?” Isaac was just humoring the kid, but he was also somewhat comforted to have one of the young Argents not treat him like a pariah. 

“No,” Max said. He frowned, an oddly serious expression on his baby face. “You’re supposed to heal. Are you sick?” 

“No. They don’t know why I’m not healing,” Isaac shrugged. 

“What happened? How’d you get hurt?” The kid just kept talking. 

“I got ganged up on by three werewolves,” Isaac said, bitterness coming through. 

“Whoa, and you made it out?” Max actually seemed impressed. 

“Arguably,” Isaac huffed. “Did you know your family was closing the gate last night?” 

“No,” Max seemed honest. “They don’t tell me anything.” He still seemed to eye Isaac curiously. “Romy and Jeanie were really stressed. Which was funny, ‘cause they’ve been avoiding you.” 

“Thanks for that,” Isaac said. “Where are they, anyways?” 

“They should be around here,” Max said. He seemed to grow more anxious. “You’re bleeding.” 

Isaac’s hand went to his cheek and came away wet with blood. 

“Look, it’s nice to know you don’t hate me or think I’m some scary werewolf, but I’m gonna go,” Isaac left the kid and headed for his room. 

Once in his ensuite, he began dabbing at the blood dripping down to his jaw, letting out a hiss of pain as his shoulder twinged painfully. Isaac was tired of being hurt. He had forgotten how exhausting it was. 

“Hey.” 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Isaac jumped out of his skin. Romy stood behind him in his doorway. 

Romy, filled with trepidation, scuffed her feet and seemed to search for words. “Can we… can we talk?”


	28. Chapter 28

“Can we _talk?_ ” Isaac repeated harshly. “Are you serious?”

Isaac had tried so hard. Like he was looking for forgiveness. For _weeks_ he had tread around Romy so lightly, desperate for her approval. Ashamed for things out of his control. And now, what, because she’d gotten scared she wanted to _talk?_

“Look, I know I don’t deserve your time, but-” 

“But _what?_ ” Isaac was furious. Like a switch had been flicked he wanted nothing more than to punch her in the face. “But I should give you a chance? Like all the chances you’ve given me?” 

“I- I mean-” What could Romy say? 

“Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting it is to be completely alienated by everyone in your own home? _Again?_ ” Isaac was stepping closer, overtaken by an anger that should not overlap with grief. He could not blame the dead for leaving him, but he could blame the living. “I thought you were my friend. I thought you were better than the rest of them.” 

He was refusing to relent, any logic leaving him underneath betrayal that had finally come free. Romy took a step back. 

“Why are you even here?” Isaac snarled despite that not helping the already bleeding stitches on his cheek. 

“I just wanted to talk. To figure things out. To apologize-” 

“ _Apologize?_ You ignore me for weeks, don’t even give me a reason why and your plan is to fix it by saying you're sorry?!” Isaac wanted to do more than shout at her. He wanted her to understand. To have not ignored him at all. Isaac did not know how to control his emotions and was unable to stop shouting at Romy, cornering her in his anger. He wasn’t sure if he was going to punch her or storm out of the room, but all that tension was bottled in the mere foot between them. 

Romy hit the wall. She now held a knife in her right hand. 

Isaac froze, feeling oddly cold. “Are you… are you scared of me?” Isaac’s rage faded to surprise. 

“N-No!” She stammered. Isaac didn’t believe her. “I am not scared of a werewolf- I’m- I’m pissed off!” 

“Romy, is it really that bad?” Isaac’s words softened. “You pull a _knife_ on me?” 

Romy’s lip trembled and her hand, still clutching the knife, fell to her side. “I just- I didn't think. I just acted. That’s what always gets me into trouble.” 

“Still, you decided you’d come talk to me, and thought you needed to be armed?” Isaac asked coldly. 

Romy grew flustered. “No! This isn’t for you. I’ve had it on me since we saw the blood this morning.” 

“Comforting.” This should’ve made Isaac more angry. Romy actually pulling a _knife_ on him. But that was what pushed him to forgive her. That familiar fear when backed into a corner by something you feared deep down. Despite the time and growth in which you try and overcome it. At least Romy had had the guts to pull a knife on what scared her. 

“Why should I talk to you?” Isaac asked. “Or, why should I listen to what you have to say?” 

“I don’t know,” Romy said. “I thought you were going to die. Or you were dead. And it is so selfish of me to think that that fear means I get to apologize.” 

“And?” Isaac asked. 

“And that’s all I got,” Romy sighed. She frowned, “still, lying about being a werewolf is one thing, but saying shit about having a violent father is _not_ the way to go! It’s a fucked up thing to lie about.” 

“No, actually, that bit was true,” Isaac told her. 

Romy seemed to hunch forward, embarrassed. “Oh.” 

Isaac was so bitter and angry. But he was lonely too. “Come on, then. You said you had a good reason, right? Or a reason at least.” 

He headed out the door. Nostalgia or some fucked up coping mechanism made him decide that the best place to have this conversation was on the roof next to that stupid pigeon coop. Romy followed him, seeming shocked at her own luck. 

“So, what happened to your face?” Romy asked as they took the metro closer to their destination. She gave him some distance, leaning against one of the poles lining the middle of the car, just as Isaac did the same across from her. 

Isaac didn’t know if she deserved that from him. Or why he agreed to not only hear her out, but to all but go on a fucking day trip with her. 

Several times during the silent journey to the roof Romy started to speak before stopping herself. Isaac did nothing to make the tension less uncomfortable. 

“You taking me up here to kill me?” Romy joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Depends on what you have to say,” Isaac replied. His response seemed to make Romy relax a little. To know it wasn’t pure hostility between them. 

The roof was just as they’d left it, with bits of trash surrounding the two lawn chairs and Romy’s lighter was forgotten nearby. Isaac sat on the ground, long legs folded beneath him. Romy scuffed her feet, staring off the edge and almost bouncing with some form of anxiety. 

“I got us here. What do you want to say?” Isaac asked. He didn’t know what to expect. What there was that could justify Romy being so cold to him. He got attached way too fast. Forgiveness felt too easy but somehow anger felt even easier. 

“I just… I worry if I say this it’s going to be a pathetic excuse. That it’ll sound like I’m just some stupid brat who let her own problems cloud her judgement,” Romy was oddly articulate. She had thought this through. “But that’s ‘cause I _am_ just an idiot who let my own fucking issues get someone hurt. Someone I like.” 

“Tell me anyways.” 

“I told you some of it the first day we hung out,” Romy picked up some gravel from the ground and started chucking it off the roof. “I watched my dad get attacked by an alpha and then he put a bullet in his head.” 

“But I’m guessing there’s more to it?” Isaac asked slowly. Not to say that wasn’t justification enough for a prejudice against werewolves. 

“Kind of,” Romy struggled to articulate the strange feelings that had been eating away at her. “Really it’s as simple as that, but it doesn’t feel that way.” She was quiet for a moment. “I can’t look at you, let alone talk to you, without thinking of my dad and how long I watched him die.” 

“How long?” Isaac asked quietly. 

“Hours. That’s how long. It took him hours to die. For help to arrive,” Romy said vehemently, throwing a rock furiously to the roof across the street. 

She didn’t continue, Isaac tried to push her along. “Dying isn’t that scary. Well, it is, but I remember with… with my dad I wasn’t so much scared of him killing me. I was scared of him killing me slowly.” Isaac wasn’t sure why he was sharing this. What, to tell her he could empathize with her dead father? Getting torn apart by werewolves was a different sort of slow death than dehydration in an old freezer. 

“I don’t know what he felt,” Romy said. “He…” She stopped and her balled fists went limp. She was turned away from Isaac now but somehow she still looked lost. 

“I’ll just go from the start, then,” Romy turned around sort of slowly, as if unsure of her intentions. She sat across from him about a metre away. The chairs remained empty as they stayed on the ground. “It was supposed to be easy. I think I told you that before. One omega. And… dad said I was gonna lead. Which didn’t really mean anything. Especially then. It was just practice. Something a child could do.” 

Romy stared at the ground, picking at the cracked asphalt roofing the old building. “And I _know_ it shouldn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a choice, it was a coincidence. But the fact of it was I was the one who said dad and I would check that particular building. See, he’d been spotted on the street, the omega. There were a few abandoned buildings on that block, so, we broke off into pairs. My mum was there too. Her and some of the others broke off. Spread out. If something happened, my dad would just call them, right?” Romy’s voice broke off and Isaac couldn’t tell if she was bottling anger or tears or both. 

“It was a warehouse. There were a few on that block, but again, bad luck. My dad figured out something was wrong pretty quickly. Not quick enough for us to leave, but enough that when we realized that there were more wolves there, too many, and when they could smell that we were there, he got me to climb into an old air shaft. He wouldn’t have been able to fit, if that had even been an option. And…” She gave off a laugh that sent a chill down Isaac’s spine. “He told me to wait there for help. I didn’t have my own phone, I couldn’t call for help, I could just wait. He said that no matter what happened I had to stay there.” Romy kept tearing away at the ground in front of her. Isaac could only listen. “I thought it was funny,” Romy’s brow furrowed. Still confused by events over three years prior. “That he was afraid. My dad was a very good hunter. And I was fourteen. What else would I think? He wasn’t in any danger. My dad couldn’t get hurt by some werewolf, right? He was invincible.” She paused, eyes remaining focused on the ground, looking at something Isaac couldn’t see. 

“And then they came,” Romy continued. “It wasn’t many. I don’t think it was the whole pack. It was the alpha and two of his betas. And I could see it through the grate. All of it. If it had been me now, my dad and I could’ve taken them. I feel pretty certain of that. But I was a kid. I couldn’t fight, and my dad was a great hunter, but he wasn’t super human.” 

“My mum and dad had me pretty young. I doubt I’ve told you that. My dad was eighteen. My mum was twenty. And that isn’t as scary as it is for most. This family protects their own. They could go to university and know I was taken care of,” Romy seemed to be putting off the details. “My dad was thirty three when he died. That’s young. That’s _really_ young. It doesn’t feel that way when they’re your parents. They seem ancient, don’t they? Like they know everything.” 

Isaac understood that. If not with more fear than admiration. 

Romy was still at a pause. “You know, you don’t have to tell me-” 

“No, but I do,” Romy said sharply. “I don’t know if it justifies it but you should understand why I thought I should hate you. Why I just-” She sighed and tugged at her hair. “I said he could’ve survived if he hadn’t shot himself. Even with that bite on his shoulder, but I’m not totally sure. There was _so much blood._ And he put up a good fight for about eight seconds. Put a bullet in one of them, but it’s not like he could keep a gun trained on all three.” 

“He hit the ground and his gun was yanked out of his hands, sent skidding only a few feet out of his reach. And I wanted to scream for help. To get out there with my pathetic little gun that I barely knew how to aim and stop them. But I told my dad I’d stay put,” Romy scoffed at this. “That’s such a bullshit excuse, isn’t it? I was scared shitless. That’s why I didn’t help him.” 

“They actually asked him where ‘the other one’ was. They had smelled both of us,” Romy said. “He said ‘gone’. Knew he couldn’t lie about me being there, tried to make them think I’d run. I don’t know for sure why they couldn’t smell me out in that air shaft. I think it’s because it was a... drain vent. I don’t know how to say it english, but the kind that takes the hot air out of the building. So it carried my scent out. Maybe, I don’t know.” 

Romy let out another harsh laugh that unsettled the air around them, “I told myself after the fact, when I was really blaming myself, as you do, that if I hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t been trying to protect me, they wouldn’t’ve hurt him so bad,” Romy said. “It was easier for me to blame the things that attacked him as much as I could than keep blaming myself.” 

“And I could _see_ him struggling to stay calm. Like… like he didn’t want to scare me. And I remember biting down on my fist to make sure I didn’t make a sound. I wanted to cry so bad I thought I was gonna stop breathing. I’d never heard my dad scream like that. Or scream ever, really. It was the kind of scream that you don’t ever want to hear again. Sometimes I still do hear it. Just by having the memories. And those betas fucking tore his arms to ribbons keeping him pinned down while their alpha sunk his teeth in wherever he could.” 

Romy’s face seemed to scrunch inwards. Almost like disgust. Also like fending off tears. “They did things to his body,” Romy seemed to struggle to elaborate. “While he was still alive.” As if Isaac wasn’t nauseous enough listening to this. “Toyed with him. It was _bad._ Like really bad. I didn’t know how someone could use a person then. How could I _not_ think they were animals? Psychopaths that got off on torturing people.” 

“Romy-” 

“Let me finish,” Romy, despite trying to atone, snapped at him harshly. “I know it took hours. It must’ve for the others to realize something was wrong and search enough to find us. Everyone heard them coming. I heard my mum and-” Romy struggled to talk around diseased laughter and choking sobs. “I thought everything was gonna be alright. My mum was coming. She was gonna save us. Her and the rest of the family. I know my dad heard. And the wolves did too.” 

Romy sighed. “My dad lunged for his gun and I thought he was gonna start fighting back. He was gonna defend himself, get those fucking animals _off_ of him. And instead he fucking shot himself in the head. Put a gun in his mouth the moment he knew someone was going to be there to get me out. I think that’s why he waited, let them tear him apart, because he had to make sure I would make it out okay.” 

“A second later my mum came running around the corner and unloaded a clip into the alpha on top of him. On top of his corpse,” Romy corrected. “All three of the wolves were dead within mere moments of their arrival. And I don’t know how I did it, but I got down from the vent and… I didn’t do anything then. I didn’t go to my mum. I didn’t try and go to my dad. I think one of my uncle’s carried me out to the car. I don’t remember it that well after that.” 

She wasn’t finished. Isaac remained silent. “I made a choice. Hate my dad for killing himself, or hate what attacked him. I spent forever convincing myself that all of your kind were sick monsters. Because how could a person do that to another human being? It was easier to think of them as animals. As monsters. And when you… Changing that, admitting my dad chose to leave me. That the evil things they did were still human, it was damn near impossible.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good excuse. I mean, my mum hates your kind but she got over it,” Romy kept rambling. “It’s just, you scare me. Not because you’ve got claws or anything, but because I actually liked you. Despite me taking half of what you are and associating it with my dad’s corpse.” 

Isaac took a moment for himself to think. Because _fuck_ was everyone he’d ever meet going to be traumatized? Was that just how all people were? And sob story or not, could Isaac just get over the fact that Romy despised the wolf inside of him? The same bite that had saved his life had ruined hers. 

Finally, he spoke. “I understand. As much as I can understand something like this. I can’t blame you for why you hate what happened to your father, but the fact of it is, after everything, you coming here and trying to talk to me... You can either accept me and all of my kind or you weren’t who I thought you were. I mean don’t accept werewolves like that, but know that they’re just like humans. My dad was human and he did sick, fucked up things to me. They’re all just as evil and just as good as they let themselves be.” 

“Easier said than done,” Romy admitted. Can I..?” Romy seemed to want something from him. “Can I see your eyes?” 

Isaac paused. “What would you do? If they weren’t yellow?” 

“You mean if they were blue?” Romy asked. She frowned. “I don’t know.” 

“I’ll show you, but know that blue eyes don’t always warrant a death sentence,” Isaac said firmly. “Or red. My alpha, or my first one I guess, he had blue eyes first. He had to do something when he was young, had to kill someone he loved, but not by choice. And he wasn’t a bad person. Not really, at least. He still was a dick sometimes.” Romy nodded and Isaac allowed his eyes to glow amber. 

Romy looked at him so carefully, eyes poring over his face, as if searching for something past that inhuman glow. Isaac wondered if she’d ever seen a werewolf’s eyes this close. At least outside a fight. 

“Born or bitten?” 

“Me? Bitten,” Isaac told her. 

Romy seemed to grow angry at this. “Not a bad person… he turns some kid, takes away his humanity, and he’s not a bad person?! If we’re talking about all this- I mean, the implications of consent alone- Isaac, you know that just because someone was better than your dad doesn’t mean he was a good person?” 

“You don’t get to say that to me,” Isaac snapped. He couldn’t stand it when people pretended to know what it was like to have been through the shit he had. “Derek got me out of there. He offered me a way out and I took it. And I wouldn’t take it back.” 

Romy seemed momentarily stunned. “You… you _asked_ for this? He gave you a choice- and you took it?” 

“What, did you think he just came into the woods and attacked me?” Isaac said. “I’m not saying that doesn’t happen, my friend Scott- he didn’t get turned by choice. But Derek said he’d look after me. That I wouldn’t have to be scared of my dad anymore. Do you expect me to turn that down?” 

“You did it? Did he tell you what that meant? About the full moons, the hunters- did he tell you about the hunters?” Romy just couldn’t understand it. Isaac feared that maybe she only planned to accept him if it hadn’t happened by choice. 

“He did. He told me that he’d have to lock me up every full moon until I learned control. He told me there were people out there who would want me dead. That would kill me given the chance. And you know what? I still said yes. That’s how bad it was. Getting chained up once a month? That was a whole lot less than it happened already. Some people out there wanted to kill me? At least they weren’t in my own house,” Isaac’s anger was returning. “So, yeah. I said _yes._ And don’t you dare tell me you wouldn’t have if it were you. It’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Romy shook her head, something warring inside of her. Whether this was the final straw, or if she could actually learn. 

“I want to do better. It’s been three years and I’m still just so _angry._ All the time. I keep on trying to rationalize it. Tell myself you’re the exception or something, but that just isn’t true. If you aren’t evil, then that means that...bitten, born, yellow, blue- I can’t let that blind me. I’ve just been putting off… everything,” Romy finally decided on this stance. 

“Okay. I’ll take that,” Isaac nodded, still half lost in thought. 

“Maybe part of all this mess was that, honestly, you scared the hell out of me,” Romy said with a crooked smile. “You do not know how unnerving it is to see a friend’s throat slit.” 

“So we’re friends again?” Isaac teased, knowing that Romy wanted to move on from those dark thoughts. 

“At the time, American. At the time,” she said. Yet her use of ‘American’ only ensures it. They were back on even ground. As much as they could be, at least.


	29. Chapter 29

“No promises, but I’ll do my best not to get my throat slit again in the future,” Isaac told Romy as they headed home.

“You better not,” Romy said it like a threat. 

“Well, third time’s the charm, right?” he said sarcastically. 

Romy stopped. “A _third_ time?!” 

“You don’t know? Darling cousin David was fucking blackmailing me for weeks,” Isaac kicked a bottle that was on the ground to show his distaste. “Threatened me with a knife.” 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Romy said. 

“As if you’ve been nothing but sweet to me lately,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t blackmail you and then out you to a bunch of strangers who want you dead,” Romy said. “Outing someone against their wishes… It’s fucked up no matter what you’re outing someone about.” 

Isaac felt concern grow at this statement, wondering if there was more to this issue than Romy let on. “You speaking from experience?” Isaac asked carefully. 

Romy looked at him funny, “what? No. No, I didn’t really even come out as a lesbian, I just… brought home a girl. All my mum did was slip a little wolfsbane into her tea. Just in case.” 

Isaac laughed, “how’d that go?” 

“Human, if not a little overwhelmed by my mother,” Romy smiled softly. “Didn’t work out.” 

“Heartbreak sucks,” Isaac said. 

“But _girls_ , they’re worth it, no?” Romy said. The way she said ‘girls’ made Isaac think of how Allison sent his heart racing and his blood on fire. 

“Yeah,” Isaac agreed. 

“I still want to kill David,” Romy said. 

“Go ahead,” Isaac said. “Just don’t let anyone think I had something to do with it.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll want credit,” Romy replied. “You better say something nice at my funeral, ‘cause after I do that Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Valerie will kill me for sure.” 

“Did you see how Gabe pinned him down after he cut me?” Isaac said. “That was badass.” 

“Uncle Gabe can get scary when he wants to,” Romy agreed. She paused, a frown forming. “I just stood there. I froze. I saw everyone put a gun on you. And it took fucking Leo to get you out of there.” 

“What were you supposed to do?” Isaac asked. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.” 

Romy didn’t change. “I could’ve been kinder to you.” 

“That’s true of a lot of people,” Isaac said. “Explains every problem of my life.” _Except losing Allison. Nothing explains that._

As they returned to the house, Romy still seemed set on making things up to him. “Your face seems to be healing,” she stared up at him. “How’d it happen anyways?” 

Isaac’s hand went to his cheek. “Don’t go thinking there’s someone else to kill to avenge me,” he warned. Isaac was surprised to find the hole on his cheek had shrunk in size considerably. And his shoulder was no longer painfully stiff. Isaac was confused. Why now? 

“You think you’ll go back to training with us, American?” Romy called back to him. “It’ll be nice to have a werewolf on our side, you know?” 

Isaac stared at her for a moment, a growing understanding forming. Of course. God, he was so dependent on the approval of other people. Still, he would take it. Romy’s apology and his healing. 

“Now come on, you gotta tell me your war story!” Romy pushed. 

“Uh, a few werewolves chased me into an alley and kicked the shit out of me,” Isaac said far too casually. He dismissed his own trauma, like always. 

“A few?! How many? Why?” Romy’s anger was oddly validating to Isaac. That someone was angry on his behalf. 

“Three. They were… they were from that pack that we attacked a few weeks back,” Isaac admitted. “But don’t think we need to go running after them for revenge. You- I mean, _we_ kicked them out of their home,” Isaac said firmly. He had to take ownership of the part he had played in the Argent's actions. 

“It’s your call,” Romy shrugged. “But I can’t believe you had to fight them off on your own.” 

“Well, it was more like I kicked them off of me and ran for it,” Isaac admitted. He paused as they found a place to sit in the quiet dining hall. “Did you…” Isaac wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer. “Did you know? That they were locking the gate?” 

Romy paused to think. “I did. I didn’t bother to ask why. And… I knew you snuck out at night. A lot. One night everyone woke up because they thought someone broke in, and you were in the courtyard and there was blood on the back of your head. I didn’t put the two together, when he locked the gate. Or that Uncle Chris might lock you out.” 

“I mean, I kept on getting into trouble, doing stupid shit. He didn’t know how to stop me. He… he thought he was doing what was right,” Isaac told her. 

“You don’t need to make excuses for him,” Romy told him. Isaac wasn’t sure how to respond. Romy continued. “There was blood outside. You made it to the house, then?” 

“Yeah, but Chris didn’t pick up the phone, so, a friend came to get me,” Isaac said. 

“A friend? How did _you_ make a friend in Paris?” Romy teased. 

“Actually, it was my therapist. So, no I don’t have any friends. He used to be an emissary, though,” Isaac said. 

“How do you know so many emissaries? You knew one in Beacon Hills _and_ here?” Romy asked. “Is it a werewolf thing?” 

Isaac laughed at her, “sure. It’s a werewolf thing.” 

“Never thought I’d have a werewolf friend,” Romy said. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty clear,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

Romy got out her phone, evidently trying to find something. 

“What’re you doing?” Isaac asked. 

“Changing your contact in my phone,” Romy replied like that explained anything. Isaac leaned forward and she turned to show him. She had put a wolf emoji next to ‘American’, which replaced his name in her phone. 

“Christ,” Isaac scoffed. “Guess I should do the same.” 

“What do you mean?” Romy frowned. After a moment, “rude.” Romy’s contact now simply read ‘dumbass’. 

“You know I’m right,” Isaac said. He had begun piling food from the remains of the Argent lunch. 

“Calling me a dumbass- you were the one going out alone to pick a fight,” Romy scoffed. “Next time you _have_ to invite me.” 

“ _That’s_ your advice? Invite you next time?” Isaac asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Jesus Christ…” Isaac muttered. 

“If I had been there, there is no way they would’ve hit you even once,” Romy said pompously. 

“Shame you weren’t, then,” Isaac said dryly. 

“Wait- how have I kicked your ass in training, if you’re a _werewolf?”_ Romy asked. “And I was going easy on you.” 

“I was going easy on _you_ ,” Isaac said. “I tried to, I don’t know, act normal,” Isaac said. 

“Still, you let me knock you on your ass?” Romy scoffed. 

“You want me to actually try next time?” Isaac asked. 

“Oh yes,” Romy was grinning now. “It’s one thing for me to beat you when I thought you were just an untrained little human, but when I beat you now it’ll be a lot more fun.” 

“Fine, then. You’re on,” Isaac said. 

“What, now?” Romy asked. “Shouldn’t you maybe rest before you start fighting in a gym?” 

“What?” 

“Your face. And, what, your shoulder too?” Romy replied. Isaac was made more self conscious of his injuries, despite them having shrunk considerably. He tugged at the loose collar of his shirt to cover the wound arching over his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter. It’ll heal,” Isaac said dismissively. He was not a fan of the attention he had been receiving after so much radio silence from everyone in the house. 

“Yeah, but I’d rather not tear you open again. Gross for me, bad for you,” Romy said with a crinkled nose. 

“Fine. Then you can help me get caught up on school,” Isaac told her. 

“School? Why? You missed a day,” Romy said. 

“Uh, actually, skipped quite a few,” Isaac admitted. 

“You completely fell off the wagon,” Romy said. “You’re supposed to be the moody reluctant one, _I’m_ supposed to be the wild card.” 

“What are we, partners on an ‘80s cop show?” Isaac scoffed. 

“Most definitely.” 

Isaac wanted to give another sarcastic quip, but he was stuck for a moment in the simple fact that he had missed her. More than he had even realized at the time. Being alone with his grief for that long had been almost brutal on his psyche. 

“What?” Romy asked after too long of him staring. 

“Nothing.” 

“Come on, then. I can at least help you with our chemistry homework,” Romy said, standing and heading out of the dining hall already. 

Isaac reluctantly followed. 

The pair of them had only been working an hour before Chris tracked him down to the living room. 

“Isaac,” Chris at least had the decency to look a little hesitant. 

“What?” Isaac didn’t need to try to seem cold and unforgiving. He already was. He was hurt too, but that he could keep bottled. 

“Could we talk?” Chris asked. Why was that how every Argent started an awkward emotional conversation. Can we _talk?_ How about ‘can I apologize’ instead? 

“Sure, but I don’t know why you think you deserve that from me,” Isaac said dryly. 

Chris seemed to be warring internally on how to deal with his snark. “Please, let me talk this through with you. Let me try to do better.” 

That kind of sincerity from Chris, while not impossible, was still rare enough to be surprising. Isaac couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to stay angry or see how this played out. Part of him hated himself for even debating it. Was he really growing that manipulative? Or worse- had he always been this way? 

“Fine,” Isaac gave in. “What the hell do you have to say to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter doesn't have much going on, it's mostly filler while I try and figure out how to get to where I want to go. But really at this point the most important part is Chris and Isaac figuring out their shit, right?


	30. Chapter 30

Despite all the effort Chris seemed to have put into getting this far, he either hadn’t prepared what he was going to say or had realized how inadequate it was when it came to actually confronting Isaac’s justified anger. He had been so defensive to the judgement of Dr. Bhatt and his husband that he hadn’t paused to realize that Isaac deserved better.

“Romy, could you give us a minute?” Chris decided on his first move. 

“Sorry, Uncle Chris, not moving. Not until Isaac says so,” Romy folded her arms defensively. 

“Romy, can you go?” Isaac said. 

Romy paused, looking somewhat surprised at this, before sulking out in resignation. 

“Isaac, I never meant to hurt you,” Chris spoke after a moment of silence between the two of them. “I made a mistake. I can admit to that. I won’t keep giving you my justifications, because I shouldn’t be looking for justification. I’m sorry. Especially because of the damage it caused.” 

Isaac thought carefully over Chris’s words. “Guess it’s better than your first attempt,” his words still came out cold and bitter. 

Chris didn’t seem to know what to do then. He had said he wouldn’t spew justifications but what else was he supposed to say? Chris was a wise enough man to know that apologies were worthless without actions, but there was nothing he could repair. No one to fight or heal or protect. Just a boy he didn’t know how to help. 

“Is there anything you expect from me?” Chris asked with some reluctance. It seemed so pathetic in the face of everything between them, but it was all he had to go on. 

Isaac was a little thrown by the question. Especially because he really wanted to know why. Why did Chris avoid him so much and make such stupid- no, _careless_ mistakes? But that would only be an invitation to justify himself. 

“Were you this much of a mess when you were Allison’s father?” The words bubbled up like venom, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

Chris looked as if he had been slapped in the face -an appearance Isaac knew more from the other end of a blow- and Isaac was half convinced he’d be experiencing such a blow again. 

When Chris finally did speak, it was not in response to his question. “ _When_ I was Allison’s father?” Isaac had been tense since Chris had fallen silent, but his words only left Isaac more wary. “I never stopped being her dad. I never will.” 

Isaac’s fear was combated by shame. It was a cruel thing to say. 

Chris seemed more confident in his words now, as if by offending one another they were on even ground. “I- I see the way you look at me. And I don’t know how to be anyone’s guardian besides her’s. You don’t look me in the eye and then you do and you’re so goddamn bitter. And I don’t blame you! You have more than a few reasons to be cautious around me. The way you behave just keeps on justifying why it’s so hard to try and talk to you. The anger and the avoidance… And I know how selfish it is that this is my excuse, but I’m afraid to be anything like your father.” 

Isaac was almost surprised. “Like my _father?_ You think you remind me of my dad? Trust me, Chris, if you were like him, all of our conversations would have gone differently,” Isaac wanted to laugh at the idea of any of his rants or bitterness towards Chris in the face of his father. The result was far too sickening to draw up anything but anger. “You think I felt safe enough to chew out my father? You think I’d go up to good old dad and dare him to punish me? You think I’ve lived this long by getting in his face and asking him what gives him the fucking right?” Isaac’s resentment only grew and he got closer to Chris, all agitation and misplaced pain. “I wish- I _wish_ you reminded me of my dad. That would be so much easier-” 

Chris was far from intimidated by Isaac’s challenging behavior. “Easier? How is any of this easier, the way you seem to want nothing more than to leave when you begged to come here, why are you so-” 

“Why?! Because you remind me of her!” Isaac was shouting now. “You-you remind me of her and that is so much worse than anything my dad left me with.” 

Chris remained frozen, neither of them sure what to say. Chris took Isaac’s moment of brutal honesty as a cue for him to toughen up and do the same. 

“I am terrified of hurting you,” Chris’s words were the last thing Isaac expected to hear. “I keep on working and working and avoiding you because we both know how much it hurts to stop and think, but I _need_ to take care of you.” 

“How come it’s so hard for you to let go of another problem for you to take care of? I thought you’d jump at the chance.” Isaac just couldn’t understand it. Scott and Melissa had been strangers, but within those first few days he grew more and more a part of their pack. Their family. That never happened with Chris or the Argents as a whole. “You barely know me. Where is this responsibility coming from?” 

“I don’t know how you can keep asking me that,” Chris said. “I’m responsible for you-” 

“Yeah, but what the hell does that _mean_ to you?” Isaac asked. “You keep on saying it.” Isaac, all emotional damage and an inability to trust, could not comprehend anyone caring about him without motive. Wanting to do right by a kid because it was just that- it was _right_. Scott was, as always, the exception to the fallacies he expected from people. Chris was not. 

Chris was on the opposite end of things. He couldn’t imagine living with himself if he abandoned Isaac to deal with all this alone. Even if he had slipped closer to that reality. “Christ- Isaac- I promised Melissa, and I can’t just leave you unsupported after everything-” 

“Those aren’t reasons, they’re excuses. You don’t need to do any of this, so what’s your _reason_?” Isaac needed something. He didn’t know why. Something to tell him that Chris was worth his trust. “And how come you keep on saying you care and all you do is avoid me?” 

“Because I can’t let myself hurt another poor kid I’m responsible for! Not again,” Chris said and the words felt like something breaking between them. “It was my job to protect her and I all but let her go to her death,” Chris, so stony and certain, so… compartmentalized, was cracking. His voice weakening at finally speaking some of his grief into the air. 

“You didn’t get her killed,” Isaac was genuinely surprised by his blame. “There’s no way you’re responsible for this-” 

“Why? Because you are? Because all the bullshit you’ve been doing lately, getting into fights or arguing with me isn’t you trying to punish yourself for being the one that made it out? Like you aren’t hoping for someone out there in the streets to actually hurt you? Or as if our arguments aren't you trying so hard to goad me into hitting you like you expect?” Chris’s words cut deep. He wasn’t wrong. 

Isaac diverted the questions with more self loathing. “She died protecting me-” 

“I was her father! I was supposed to keep her safe, not you!” Chris was almost defensive now. His shouting funneling more grief than fear in Isaac. “You’re just another kid who doesn’t deserve any of this!” 

“How can you say that?!” Isaac spoke as if his anger was directed at Chris. His words told a different story. “How can you believe that I deserve to even be here?! I should’ve been the one to go- not her! Not with you waiting for her, and-and Scott. And Lydia and Stiles, they needed her, not me! You think if she’d survived she would’ve run off to France like a coward?!” 

“You think I don’t have the same thought every goddamn day?” Chris said. He stepped forward to meet Isaac, his hand pointing accusingly back at his own chest. “You think you’re alone in the fact that she matters more than we matter to ourselves?! You think I'm not constantly dealing with the feeling that- I was not supposed to outlive her!” 

“Hard to tell, since you don’t talk about her at all,” Isaac said. So cold and harsh as if that would protect him from the pain that simply bounced off the intended target in their careless words. 

Chris did not have a retort to this, “how am I supposed to? To- To _talk_ about her.” His voice was softened but Isaac only felt more wrong to see Chris break down. The man collapsed onto the nearest sofa, his head bowed, one hand pressing to his face so Isaac wasn’t sure if he had been reduced to tears. 

“Chris-” 

“I lost my baby girl,” Chris was so hoarse and torn that Isaac finally felt less alone with the wound of grief that refused to heal. He looked up and Isaac struggled to look him in the eye. “I miss her so much. And Vic-Victoria too…” He closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly to steel himself to continue. “Fucking hell, even Kate… she didn’t just die, she died a sick monster.” 

“But you still grieve her too,” Isaac said. Chris looked to him with a question forming behind his eyes. “I still miss my dad sometimes. Hate myself for it too.” 

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.” 

“Allison hurts the most.” 

Chris nodded in agreement. There was a pause. The two of them lost and no longer resenting the other for it. Isaac joined Chris on the sofa, exhausted and uncertain, but somehow it felt right to simply sit beside the man who might understand how much it hurt. 

“So. I shouldn’t worry about behaving like your father,” Chris said slowly. “Considering I’ve already screwed it up by trying not to be.” 

“Yep,” Isaac did not try and console him. “But maybe if you actually listened to me you could do better.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve got to do the same,” Chris said pointedly. 

“Okay,” Isaac was not as reluctant as he thought he might be. Chris wanted to make an effort. He could at least do the same. “We’re the only ones here that know how bad losing her hurts.” 

“We’re gonna do right by her,” Chris said. He knew better than to say that they should merely keep living and remember her. He was a man with action behind his beliefs. So he would prove that they deserved to mourn her. 

“We’ve got to make the people here change. I thought about it the first day here. That whole thing about protecting people…” Isaac faded off, lost for a moment in the fact that that was what Allison had died doing. Saving him. That part still hurt especially. “We’ve got to teach them how to do better.” 

“We can do that together, Isaac,” Chris said. “You’re not going to be alone in this. Not anymore.” 

Somehow Isaac actually believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a little short but writer's block has been kicking my butt lately! But at least our Beacon Hills guys are talking (finally!!) - so I appreciate the patience :)
> 
> Also just going to shamelessly plug the Spotify playlist for Isaac [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/katherine_af/playlist/00E1p2DMo2HbXXYyMHLAWB?si=gBGda8GvQRG0O6eSla7uXw)


	31. Chapter 31

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Romy said.

“What? Because David is supposed to be going?” Isaac said. 

“Well, yeah. And ‘cause you can’t drink,” Romy said. 

“You guys need a sober buddy,” Isaac shrugged. He’d spent enough time in local clubs as is, might as well do it with Romy, Jeanie, Leo, Simon, and David. God, what a group to be stuck with like three days after Romy stopped shunning him. 

Still, Isaac’s loneliness won out. It was a far more… problematic group of friends than the ones he had spent christmas break with this past year. That hurt to think about. Still, only way to go was forwards. And if he had the chance to not do so alone, he would try and hold onto that. 

“Do you want me to not drink tonight? So you don’t have to deal with it alone?” Jeanie offered. She was actually studying like they had intended to do before Romy had distracted the three of them with plans for friday night. 

“No,” Isaac scoffed. “I think I can handle a few drunk idiots. I’ve been doing it a bit too much lately.” 

Jeanie looked at him curiously. “I am guessing you’re talking about your little… adventures at night?” 

“Yeah, you could call them that,” Isaac shrugged. 

“Except next time he will not be stupid and will invite me along,” Romy nudged him. 

“ _Next_ time?” Jeanie said sharply. “You don’t mean that this will happen again?” 

Isaac wasn’t sure how to respond because he really didn’t know. 

“Isaac, after what happened the last time?” Jeanie said more forcefully, so much that she put aside her homework. “You can’t be serious.” 

Isaac bristled at the implication. “I don’t know. I would’ve been fine if I hadn’t been _locked out of the house_.” 

Jeanie remained unphased at his irritation. “If I remember right you were attacked _before_ you made it to the house, right?” 

Isaac moved to retort before stopping himself. She was right. It didn’t make any of it fair, but she was right. None of this would’ve happened if he’d stayed home and been a good little werewolf. 

“Which is why he would have me come along,” Romy added helpfully. 

“God, Romy, it’s bad enough when one parent is mad at us, you want to piss off Aunt Louise too?” Jeanie shook her head. Isaac felt an odd sort of turn in his stomach as Jeanie referenced Chris as a _parent._ Not a guardian. Not simply the man who was responsible for him. But as a _parent_. Isaac wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that or not. 

“Well, they’ll be pissed at me anyways, cause if David still thinks he can come along after the shit he’s done I’ll…” Romy did not elaborate but rather balled her fists. David had been even more avoidant than before. He seemed smart enough to leave any room Romy was in and as such Romy hadn’t had the chance to ‘kick his ass’ for what he had done to Isaac. 

“Romy, come on, you do that and I’ll be the one who gets in trouble,” Isaac said almost pleadingly. “Your family has enough reason to sneak into my room and smother me with a pillow.” 

“Okay, dark,” Jeanie muttered. 

“I am not exaggerating,” Isaac told her. 

“Ah, they’ll soften up,” Romy said. “I did.” 

“Yeah, but you’re…” Isaac wasn’t sure how to explain. “...you. If I remember right, they all let grandma dearest go around slaughtering every pack in France and now there’s a werewolf eating at the same dinner table as them. Doesn’t exactly instill confidence.” 

“Only in Northern France,” Jeanie muttered. “She didn’t make it all the way through the south.” 

“Comforting,” Isaac said dryly. 

“Still, I can stop him from going. Violently or not,” Romy insisted. 

“Romy, he’s got enough reasons to be bitter towards me, let’s not make you punching his lights out another one,” Isaac said. 

“I almost agree with Romy on this one,” Jeanie said. “You have the right to never want to be near him again. David doesn’t deserve our trust any more than he deserves yours.” Jeanie frowned. “You’re very calm about this. About what he did to you.” 

Isaac shrugged. “Blame the psychological damage,” he said. He let out a harsh, forced laugh. “Oh, and I had to work with two guys who helped murder one of my only friends. So. David is a real pal compared to that.” 

Neither girl could think of a reasonable response other than staring at the other in shared horror. 

Isaac felt… off. Just not quite right. The thoughts of all those dead and the lack of closure on any of them was catching up with him. Every sarcastic quip he made about his own suffering was thinly veiled and unhealthy coping mechanisms. At least his friends had the decency not to call him out for it. 

“So, where are we going?” Isaac tried to distract from his misty eyes and apparent misery. 

“Up for debate,” Jeanie sighed. “Because Romy wants to-” 

“-Go to one of the gay clubs over in Le Marais,” Romy interrupted her. “And Simon does too! But David and Leo don’t really want to and Jeanie won’t vote,” Romy shot her a dirty look. “And I’m pretty sure Leo only said he didn’t want to go because David pushed him.” 

“So, what, you want me to break the tie?” Isaac asked reluctantly. 

“Well, yeah,” Romy said. 

Isaac felt irritation which only came from fondness. “Yeah, okay. I can’t drink, so might as well be in a gay club too,” he sighed. Isaac hadn’t minded the Jungle, even if there reason for being there was less than fun. 

“Yes!” Romy put her hands in the air with the kind of enthusiasm that made Isaac regret his choice. 

“Maybe David won’t go now,” Jeanie said hopefully. 

“Leo will make him,” Romy grumbled. “But, hey, we can always leave him there and go to another club without telling him.” 

Isaac exhaled in a scoffing equivalent of a laugh. 

“Your face is better. How about the rest of you?” Jeanie asked with a nod to his now unblemished face. 

“Yeah, I’m all healed now,” Isaac told her. It took conscious effort not to look to her scar just visible past her jeans. 

“Lucky,” Jeanie said wryly. 

“I mean, he’s not _that_ lucky. He doesn’t have any proof when he does get hurt,” Romy added. 

“Thanks for that, Romy,” Isaac said sarcastically. “Good to know that if someone starts hitting me again no one will believe me.” 

Romy, realizing the implication of her words, turned bright red. “I-well-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac said dismissively. “No one would’ve believed me before anyways.” 

A familiar uncomfortable silence came to the group. 

“So,” Romy said loudly. “You think Chris will give you a curfew?” 

“Probably,” Isaac said. “Or he’ll just lock us all out together.” 

Isaac was already starting to regret his decision to come along. Something that seemed to be happening a lot lately. Walking through the streets of Paris at night when not lurking in the shadows was an overstimulating and often obnoxious experience that the others seemed utterly desensitized to. 

Romy so far hadn’t tried to strangle David, but that was because several parents had been present when they left and so far it had been too crowded to get away with it. 

Isaac didn’t care much about David, at least he told himself that. And Chris. As the man had given him a much expected lecture before he left. 

“The fact that I’m letting you go out on a friday night is a miracle, so don’t go trying to push your luck,” Chris was stern as always. “You stay away from David, you don’t run your mouth like usual, you don’t go looking for fights,” Chris had to think of what else to caution of. “You don’t go home with anyone you don’t know. You don’t take drinks from strangers-” 

“You know drugs don’t work on me, right? That’s sort of the whole problem,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

Chris frowned disapprovingly. “You do not take drinks from strangers,” he repeated seriously. He had formed the habit of cautioning a daughter and did not register how little Isaac in turn had been warned of being roofied as a teenage boy. Although Isaac’s less than social youth contributed to that as well. “If you stay out past one, you call me and let me know when you’ll be home. David tries something, defend yourself but nothing more, you hear me?” Chris said sharply. 

“Come on, Chris, I’m not stupid. I try and punch David I’ve got a dozen hunters on me,” Isaac rolled his eyes. 

“Nothing more _and_ nothing less, Isaac. He tries to hurt you, you don’t let him, got it?” Chris said without any wavering of sterness. 

“Alright, I don’t care what David does, I’m planning on ignoring him like normal,” Isaac tried to satisfy his guardian’s incessant worrying. 

Chris’s aged brow furrowed as he continued to think of more things to worry about. “Any reasonable parent would ground you after all the crap I’ve had to deal with from you, but…” 

“We’re a special case, though, aren’t we?” Isaac said wryly. “And I think I was punished enough after all that. And honestly at this point you owe me.” 

Chris sighed. “Guess I do. But I still expect you to be safe.” 

“Alright, alright,” Isaac said with an eye roll. 

“Be safe in more ways than one.” 

Isaac stood up. “Oh my god, if you’re about to give me a safe sex talk I am going to throw myself into a volcano.” 

Chris seemed equally uncomfortable. “Well, it wasn’t exactly going to be the highlight of my evening, just… be careful. All I ask.” 

“You got it, Chris. Besides, if you’re worried about one of us making trouble, we both know it’d be Romy.” 

Isaac hoped he would be wrong. That Romy would keep her cool and David would know better than to start something. Although, considering both planned on drinking tonight that felt highly unlikely. 

“Hey! Isaac, you still with us?” Romy hopped up and waved in front of his face, causing him to lean back, blinking out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac said, still hunched over with his hands buried in his pockets. 

“Then live in the moment,” Romy teased. 

As Isaac did, he noticed the tourist crowd had changed to one of a far different demographic. Men wore far more leather and mesh and the women leaned more towards short hair and button ups. Not all cliches, but more than a few. Romy included. The club Romy was dragging him along to leaned more towards the younger side of Paris’s gay community. 

“Je ne peux pas croire que tu nous a fait aller ici,” David muttered as they waited by the door. 

“Tout n'est pas à propos de vous,” Jeanie replied. 

“‘I can’t believe you made us go here’,” Romy nodded to David. “And ‘not everything is about you’,” she referred to Jeanie. Isaac appreciated the translation. “I do not need to speak English all the time for your sake,” David spoke to Isaac for the first time in days. From his sneer Isaac could tell that the time had not softened any of the animosity between them. 

It had been ten minutes. They weren’t even in the building yet and Romy lunged at him. Not intending to actually throw a punch but simply to see David jump back. 

“Romy, calm down. It won’t be fun if we have to take him to the ER first thing,” Isaac grumbled. 

“I’ll do my best to resist,” Romy said but Isaac did not believe her. 

David muttered a curse but clearly moved to Leo’s other side, leaving him as a barrier between himself and Romy. 

“Hey! Simon!” Romy shouted to her cousin who was already inside, having agreed to meet them there. 

“Allô,” Simon was already a little breathless having gotten there an hour or so before them and he looked… different to say the least. Gone were the practical boots and dark jacket with a holster on his belt, instead he wore tight black pants and a very _very_ see through shirt. His eyes were ringed with deep wine dark red makeup and glitter that caused his blue eyes to stand out even more. He didn’t look any less intimidating though. Broad shoulders and that brutally sharp jawline, his lithe and muscular arms standing out through his shirt. He tried not to think of how he vaguely looked like Derek - except for the eyebrows, of course. Isaac wasn’t sure if he was more distracted by Simon or the noise and chaos behind him. A bar to the left and right a dance floor covered in bodies in the middle. It wasn’t exactly within Isaac’s comfort zone. 

“Je suis surpris que vous soyez tous venus,” Simon nodded to the group. With a glance to Isaac he seemed to reconsider his language choice. “Ah, I am surprised you came,” he said to Isaac. “All of you. Except Romy, of course.” 

“Sometimes it’s easier to have fun without a bunch of straight guys breathing down my neck,” Jeanie said before tugging Romy towards the bar. 

That left Isaac alone with a boy who hated him, one who awkwardly avoided him, and another who he only knew on a hunt. 

The two former left. David dragged Leo along through the crowd evidently heading for the bar as far away from Romy as possible. 

And then there were two. Simon just a hair taller than Isaac but just enough that Isaac disliked being looked down on, even if it was only literally. 

“So, you came too,” Simon said a little loudly over the music. 

“Yeah,” Isaac frowned. “Did you not want me to?” 

“No, not at all,” Simon said quickly. “I am just surprised. You cannot drink and I think Romy would have mentioned if you liked boys.” 

“Oh,” Isaac felt himself blush. “Why would she do that?” He didn’t feel defensive exactly, more so embarrassed by the attention. 

“It is Romy,” Simon shrugged, causing his shirt to raise slightly exposing just a glimpse of stomach. “She is very excited to bring home other gays,” Simon glanced to Isaac. “Or bisexual. Whatever.” 

“Sounds about right,” Isaac sighed. “But I came along partially to keep Romy and David from killing each other.” 

Simon laughed and Isaac felt oddly pleased like it was praise. “Would have thought you’d love to see Romy tear him apart.” 

“I mean, yeah, but that wouldn’t exactly go great for me in the long run,” Isaac shrugged. 

“Smart boy,” Simon looked eager to move. “Try and have fun, alright, Isaac?” And then with a smile that spelled mischief he disappeared back into the crowd. 

“Sure I will,” Isaac sighed having officially been abandoned by everyone here he knew. 

Isaac moved to the bar and got himself a drink. Soda of course. He wouldn’t waste his money on useless alcohol. Isaac hadn’t noticed Romy emerge from the mass looking irritated until she was right next to him, Jeanie was not far behind. 

“Romy, c'est bon. Ne les laissez pas gâcher la nuit,” Jeanie said after her cousin who took a seat beside him at the bar. 

“It’s been like twenty minutes, what happened?” Isaac asked. 

Romy rather than reply motioned to the man behind the bar for another drink. Not that that said much. It wasn’t like they would sell her hard liquor. 

Jeanie seemed equally disgruntled. “Romy asked a girl to dance and…” 

“It was like I asked her to strip naked!” Romy said exasperatedly. “Brut. Je ne suis pas lesbienne. ‘Gross, I’m not a lesbian.’ Then why the fuck is she here then?!” 

“Romy, it was one girl,” Jeanie said. 

“And all of her stupid friends,” Romy snapped. “Do you ‘ave any idea how hard it is to find a femme in a _gay_ bar?! It’s always stupid straight girls treating _our_ clubs like a zoo. She could’ve just said she wasn’t interested, chienne impolie…” 

“Makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly having fun either,” Isaac said. 

“Oh poor you,” Romy said sarcastically. “Apparently there are several straight girls for you to choose from.” 

“Yeah, well, dead girlfriend sort of takes out the appeal,” Isaac said with equal sarcasm and bitterness. 

Romy opened her mouth to make a retort before pausing. “Touché.” 

“You’re both self pitying and intolerable,” Jeanie said. “Even if Isaac has a slightly more reasonable reason. Have some fun for fucks sake. Fucking David is out on the floor and both of you are sitting here feeling sorry for yourselves.” 

Jeanie had a point. 

“Come on, then, American,” Romy muttered before pulling Isaac to his feet. “Let’s listen to the smart one.” 

“If I have to,” Isaac said, but went along with his friends willingly. 

There were bodies around him now and all Isaac could think about was Erica. Going with her to that stupid rave all to get ahold of Jackson but also feeling like he was actually doing something normal. What a sign of how fucked up his life had been up to that point. Hunting down something that could easily kill them, but because it coincided with a party that a bunch of his classmates were also going to, it felt like the teenage experience he had been deprived of. Hell, he was still absolutely starved of normalcy. So this time spent a little unsure in motion between strangers with two friends he had never expected to have keeping him grounded. It was a therapeutic tragedy. 

They had been so stupid. God, how a single year had aged him. Back then Erica and him toying with Jackson like it was a game. They had been so cocky and playful and ignorant. Like Jackson couldn’t’ve killed them on a whim. Like eventually someone else wouldn’t kill so many of them. He would never have treated something like that so casually. Not the way he was now. He would have done it still, afraid or not, especially if Scott had asked him to, but he knew now how mortal they really were. Isaac and his pack had felt so invincible then. Isaac had been more confident and yet somehow more insecure in all those months. Desperate for approval from Derek and Erica and his peers. Resenting the other students of Beacon Hills High and deciding that their fear of him was better than the indifference he had survived before. 

A different club. A different country. Yet he was still the same, really. He never got less afraid he only bottled it differently. But just as Isaac had known a year prior, he could not waste time being terrified anymore. He wanted to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've updated, and now I finally have!  
> Will Isaac have his bisexual awakening - second if you count scott ;) - in this fic? We'll see!
> 
> I've also realized upon editing and rereading my work, dang Isaac is depressed. I'd like to think I write his character accurately especially considering the circumstances but also shit this kid needs to lighten up, accurate or not. Would be a lot easier if his girlfriend wasn't dead lmao. Too soon? Too soon.
> 
> ALSO: apparently the legal age for drinking in France changed from 16 to 18 in like 2009, but we're gonna ignore that. For narrative purposes. Not my fault my research was ten years out of date. (I mean it is, but again, we're gonna roll with it)  
> Still, at least Isaac is having a little fun with people who (mostly) no longer hate him!  
> Thanks for the patience as always folks :)


	32. Chapter 32

Isaac had managed to have fun, to dance and be with friends for a little while, but they were getting more disconnected from their surroundings and Isaac was becoming more painfully aware of his own. They had parts of her. Bits and pieces of Allison scattered across their family. It felt so strange to think it, but all of them did. Romy had her lips. And her squared jawline. Leo the same soft brown eyes. Jeanie her full cheeks. In the dark with flashes of neon light, like a night with her from so long ago. He had come here to run away only to find another place that had Allison written all over it.

Isaac was starting to feel more boxed in. By all these bodies pressing in around him and the darkened thoughts that refused to leave him alone. It was harder to feel grounded in a crowd without her to anchor him. That shadow that had haunted his life, fear, was being covered by another. Depression. Bordering on a dangerous apathy where what scared him now was the fact that he didn’t care anymore. And that hurt. How could he feel so sad and not feel anything at the same time? 

“I- I’ll be back,” Isaac said the words but he wasn’t sure if his friends could hear him over the music. God, had it always been so loud? Had it always pressed in on his ears like that? 

Isaac made his way through the crowd, a few guys getting in his way but backing off upon seeing the look in his eyes. He saw a sign for the bathroom. It was dark, a little disgusting, and smelled like cheap booze and cheaper soap, but it was _quiet_. Well, relatively. The music was only muffled by the walls. Isaac was tragically sober, so why did he look like shit? 

“Fucking hell, Lahey. You’re not coping well at all, are you?” Isaac muttered, one hand clinging to the counter the other running through his hair which stuck up sporadically in the mirror. He didn’t look disheveled because of the smudged mirror or his shirt hanging off his collarbone or the bags under his eyes, it was simply because he looked into those eyes and knew how fucking tired he was. And he was _trying_ for christ’s sake. He really was. Sure he’d fallen off the wagon for a few weeks, but he wanted to feel better. To _do_ better. Why was it so hard? 

Isaac turned away as the door opened and the noise bombarded him again. 

“Simon,” Isaac was surprised to see a familiar face. Simon looked equally disheveled by the night. His makeup smeared and skin shining with sweat, his hair spiked and damp. Isaac only now saw in this slightly better lighting that Simon was wearing dark red lipstick, now smeared slightly onto his cheek. 

“Isaac,” Simon returned the greeting with a raised eyebrow. “You looked a little upset. Thought I’d follow.” 

The words _I’m fine_ died on Isaac’s lips. “How sober are you right now?” He asked instead. 

Simon grinned before giving him a noncommittal shrug. “I’m a heavyweight.” 

“Then I don’t know if you’re ready to sit through my problems,” Isaac deflected. 

Simon wavered for a moment, swaying on his feet. Eventually he decided to lean against the back wall and slid down to sit on the floor. An unreasonable and somewhat disgusting decision considering where they were, but Simon also patted the ground next to him and motioned for Isaac to join him. 

Isaac wasn’t sure why, but he did. Their long legs brushing against one another and this close Isaac could smell the mixture of tequila, sweat, and cologne coming off of him. Simon had not gotten drunk off of the few beers allowed to sixteen year olds. He had drunk properly, as in ‘in his twenties and taking shots’ drunk. Still, Simon didn’t look out of it, only mildly amused. But also concerned. 

“Well? You going to talk about it?” Simon nudged him with his shoulder. 

Isaac went to speak but instead only an exasperated exhale came out. He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? _I’m just still sad about my dead girlfriend. And my dead friends. And my dead family. And all my guilt for abandoning the ones I have left. Also sometimes I don’t feel anything anymore, so there’s that._

“I’m just really tired,” Isaac said. “And it’s a little more alienating than I first thought, to have everyone else getting wasted and not being able to.” 

“Aw,” Simon put an arm around Isaac’s shoulder. Isaac tried to not notice he was, again, damp with sweat and smelled strongly of alcohol. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, _we_ don’t care that you’re not drunk. We’re glad you actually came along. Well, except for David, of course, but he’s, y’know, emotionally damaged.” 

“Yeah, well, join the fucking club,” Isaac muttered darkly. 

“You know, I have had one too many drinks to have a filter,” Simon spoke with more intensity. The arm around Isaac’s shoulder pulled him closer, so their foreheads were almost touching. “You are not upset because we are getting drunk and you are not.” 

“Well spotted,” Isaac scoffed. 

“Sh, no, listen to me,” Simon was deadly serious. The kind of seriousness that rarely came easily with sobriety. “You-you’re allowed to be sad. You _are_ sad. ‘Cause you’re starting to realize things are never going to be the same, right? That there’s nothing you can do about it besides feel it?” 

Isaac’s chest felt very tight. He had to take a deep breath and hated how he shuddered on the exhale. He looked away from Simon’s piercing gaze. 

“Hey,” Simon now cradled Isaac’s head sloppily in the hand that had been holding onto his shoulder, his thumb brushing against his face gently. “You should cry. You want to.” 

“I-” Isaac shook his head, trying to force himself back. He did not want to be that guy crying on the floor of the bathroom in a club into the shoulder of his friend’s older cousin who he really didn’t know. The guy was also very touchy-feely. Not in a skeezy way, but Isaac was way too touch starved to suddenly be held by someone. 

“I am so sorry that it hurts,” Simon actually sounded a little choked up. That might be the tequila more than it was actually him. “I wish there was a way I could stop the pain, but I can’t.” What really got to Isaac was that Simon almost sounded like Melissa. It was something she would say. Both comforting and painfully honest. 

“Every time I think the worst is behind me, something even worse happens,” Isaac admitted. 

“Bad things have happened to me too,” Simon said. He didn’t move to elaborate. “But we’re both still here, right?” 

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” those words were such a cruel expression of where Isaac was emotionally. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. Or anywhere really. 

Simon paused, seeming to know that there wasn’t any healthy reaction to what Isaac had said. So he pushed on. “You’re not weak, you know. Or defective or hopeless.” 

“Of course you can say that,” Isaac scoffed, but his words grew more shaky and a lump formed in his throat. He wiped his eyes quickly, unwilling to look at Simon. 

“You’re a little self absorbed, you know that?” Simon told him. “I mean, apparently self loathing too, but you seem to think what’s happened to you has only happened to you. People die. People get hurt. And not just for you.” 

Isaac felt irrational anger rise up. Maybe just at himself for getting this emotional in front of a stranger, but Simon was making a fine target out of himself. 

“I’ve been fucked up for as long as I can remember, okay? It never was good for me. Not really. And when I thought it was I fucking ruined it,” Isaac did sound furious, in a quiet, bitter sort of way. Simon knew Isaac wasn’t mad at him. Not really. “By the time I got over losing mom -although saying I ever did is a joke in itself- dad was worse and my brother was gone. And my dad didn’t even wait until I’d started coping with losing him to start hitting me,” Isaac was properly crying now. Simon didn’t interrupt. 

“Fucking tortured me. Made my life hell. And it was bad like that for _years_. And then I finally got out and it was better in a fucked up sort of way where I was technically homeless for a while and it wasn’t exactly a healthy home. But I had people I cared about. Who cared about me. For the first time in so fucking long,” Isaac was struggling to breathe because finally after all that numb he was _feeling_ something. And of course it was only pain. A pain inside of him that felt so real and brutal it was like there was a wolf tearing at the inside of his chest instead of a few dead souls weighing his mind. The weight had become an assault inside of him. He didn’t know which was worse. “A-And it took less than a year for things to get bad again. I lost my friends. And people kept trying to help me, maybe they did, but I wasn’t coping with _any_ of it. I’m still not coping.” Isaac was worried he was growing almost hysterical, breathing heavily, torn between holding back and letting himself break. 

Another pair of guys came into the bathroom, laughing and loud. Isaac stopped crying almost immediately. A defense mechanism from weakness meaning pain. Still, they barely glanced at the pair on the floor. Simon slowly rubbed Isaac’s back and despite looking a little like Derek, he was acting more like Scott or Melissa would. It made this a little easier. They remained quiet with the present company. 

Not that they seemed to notice them much, as they had started to make out against the stall walls. Isaac was almost jarred out of his breakdown by his discomfort. Not for any particular reason, just that it was awkward to have these strangers going at it while Simon was trying to make him feel better. 

“Hé! Pouvez-vous voir que nous vivons quelque chose ici?” Simon suddenly shouted at the pair of them, causing Isaac to start slightly. “Aller quelque part ailleurs. Rendre plus classe. Tu veux vraiment baiser ici? Partir!” 

It was a lot of words that Isaac didn’t understand, but it was enough to make the two men leave a little sheepishly. Simon laughed, Isaac couldn’t help but follow. It was the gentlest of ironies for their moment of authenticity to be broken by some poor guys just looking for somewhere to bang. 

“God, get some class,” Simon shook his head. There was a pause. The bass pressing in on them from outside the walls took up the silence. A silence with weight but without obligation. Eventually:“I don’t blame you.” Isaac looked at him, even as Simon remained staring forwards, his mind evidently somewhere else. “For thinking it won’t ever get better.” Another pause. “And I don’t pretend I know everything you’ve been through, but, well, if we’re keeping score, I’ve been on fluoxétine since I was thirteen.” Isaac frowned, and tentatively moved to ask a question. “Antidepressants,” Simon explained with a wry smile. “Now, I’m no psychiatrist, but I think you’re a little depressed, Isaac.” There was a bitter sort of humor from that. “And like I said, bad things have happened to me. To a lot of us. Romy, Jeanie, all of us. We’ve all got something, right?” Simon again seemed to get far away. “Some worse than others. More violent, less likely to leave us alone...” A pause. “Well, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for you to unlock _that_ much of my tragic backstory,” Simon said with a laugh that Isaac just couldn’t understand. 

“Why’re you…” Isaac looked for the right question. “Telling me anything? What’re you trying to do?” 

Simon didn’t exactly answer him. “You’re in therapy, right?” Simon asked. 

Isaac felt himself get a little defensive, “how do you know that? Do people really talk about me that much?” 

“No,” Simon said quickly. “Well, not about that at least. Mostly they talk about the whole werewolf thing. But, no, when we were all out looking for you, Uncle Chris said you crashed at your therapist’s place.” 

“Oh.” 

“That’s good, though. Getting help,” Simon nodded. “But sometimes I think it’s nice to know other people have survived the same shit. And not just from someone whose paid to tell you that.” Simon had that amused sort of smirk on his face that he always seemed to fall back to. Yet it seemed faded underneath sincerity. Real, genuine intent. “You’ll be okay, Isaac.” That tightness was returning to Isaac’s chest. “Or at least you _can_ be okay. And yeah, you’ve had a rough start and don’t have much proof of concept that that’s true, but you’ve been happy before. You said it got better. What’s to stop that from happening again, eh?” Simon’s arm finally let go of him and there was a sense of closure now. 

“Hey, uh, thanks,” Isaac was unsure if a ‘thanks’ made sense, but Simon seemed to accept it. Simon grinned and instead of reply leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto Isaac’s cheek. An act of drunken fondness, not attraction. 

“You’re cute, Isaac,” Simon got to his feet. “I hope you have fun the rest of the night.” He reached down and offered Isaac a hand, which Isaac took and was pulled to his feet, a funny feeling when the one helping him seemed a little unsteady. “Go find Romy. I’ll see you back at home. There’s a guy I’ve got to get back to, so, don’t wait up,” Simon winked before disappearing back into the noise. 

Isaac felt a little out of it. Had that really just happened? Simon, the _no, the untrained american can’t come with us_ sort-of asshole, had sat on the floor of some bathroom and had let him cry it out even though, apparently, he was supposed to be with some guy. Isaac returned to his reflection in the stained mirror. Honestly, he looked worse. His eyes a little more red and his jacket a little more wrinkled, but there was also lipstick smudged against his cheek. Isaac’s hand brushed against the mark. 

He was okay. At least enough to get his friends home. 

Romy is actually drunk. Not just a little tipsy, but as in she fell on top of Isaac completely unintentionally. Isaac was glad in her current state she couldn’t see how unsettled he was. 

“Did you see that girl, American?” Romy said, holding onto his arm to support herself. 

“Which one?” Isaac humored her. A drunken friend who was a little lovesick for any pretty girl that looked her way was somehow calming. 

“The hot one who danced with me,” Romy let Isaac guide her off to a chair. “Je l'épouserais…” She mumbled. 

“Can you let go of me?” Isaac asked. Romy was finally sitting down, but had not let go of Isaac’s sleeve. 

“Oui…” Romy let go. Now that she was sitting and not surrounded by other bodies she seemed steadier. 

“Where’s Jeanie?” Isaac asked, now slightly worried. It didn’t seem safe to have one of his wasted friends wandering around alone. 

“She is with Leo and David,” Romy gestured vaguely across the room. Romy let out a snorting laugh. “And Simon just came by with his hands all over some guy last I saw. Was very rude when I tried to speak to him. He might not be coming home with us.” 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Isaac sighed. “Well, we should start heading out. It’s getting late.” 

“Aw you’re no fun,” Romy pouted, but stood to follow him anyways. 

“Jeanie,” Isaac tapped her on the shoulder. 

“What? Is Romy okay?” Jeanie asked a little sharply. 

“Yeah, fine, just thinking we should head home,” Isaac said. David was pestering Leo, who was looking a little upset. 

“Oh, you get to decide that?” Jeanie said. 

“Wow, you’re not a very nice after a few beers, are you?” Isaac rolled his eyes and moved to pull her along to the door. 

“Leo, can you bring along David?” Isaac asked. Despite seeming a little pouty, Leo did not seem totally wasted. 

“What about Simon?” Jeanie asked. 

“Well, last I saw him he was pressing a twink against a wall and told me to fuck off,” Romy laughed. “So, I think we’d better not.” Isaac feeling both flustered and annoyed, began to half-pull half-carry Romy towards the door. Simon didn’t waste time, did he? 

They had managed to reach the street intact. Isaac tried to fish his phone out of his pocket, planning on calling Chris to let him know that they were on their way home, but before he could _someone_ shoved him. Romy staggered forward with him and instead of catching herself, hit the pavement cursing all the while. 

“What the _fuck?_ ” Isaac snapped, turning around. 

It was no surprise that David was the one behind him, looking angry and unsteady. “Je te deteste. Tu as ruiné ma vie.” 

“God, you’re gonna antagonize me in french? That’s almost narcissistic,” Isaac drolled. “You’re wasted. Don’t do something you’re gonna regret.” 

Isaac wasn’t sure if David had even heard him except for the language change. And that David was now grabbing a fistful of Isaac’s shirt. 

“You-you ruined my life,” David slurred, pointing accusingly at him. 

“Jesus fucking christ, give it a rest,” Isaac snapped. “You attacked _me_. You outed _me_. You blackmailed _me_.” 

“You stupid fucking dog,” David staggered back, but Isaac didn’t think the drunken asshole had it in him. To land a blow on a werewolf’s face. Apparently he did. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Jeanie shouted at him, pushing David back. Romy had just gotten back to his feet. 

“Vous chatte stupide,” Romy lunged at her cousin this time without the intention of holding back. Isaac, one hand stemming his bleeding nose which would soon stop, and the other reaching out to stop Romy from throttling David. 

Isaac wasn’t even angry, but he also wasn’t going to look a horse in the mouth. 

“You wanna do something stupid? Why not, you threw the first punch, no reason to hold back now,” Isaac said. 

“Isaac, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Jeanie warned. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t regret it,” Isaac said, eyes still locked on David’s stupid red face. 

“Then by all means,” Jeanie said sarcastically. God, she got snarky when she drank. 

David had barely stepped forward when Isaac had him on the ground with a split lip. 

“Careful,” Leo went down to help David. “He doesn’t heal like you do.” 

“So what? He didn’t care if I healed when he put a knife to my throat! When he got me shot!” Isaac snapped. 

“Let me, American,” Romy kept pushing forward. 

“No, let’s just go home. Let him walk it off,” Isaac said. 

“Coward. As if you haven’t wanted to fight me this entire time,” David snapped, getting back to his unsteady feet. His slurred words just didn’t want to stop. “You come here, and ‘cause your dad smacked you around, and your girlfriend died doing her fucking job, you think you can come into our house and act like you own the place. Moping about, ungrateful that we let you live. Act like we shouldn’t shoot you for being a fucking monster.” The only reason Isaac wasn’t throwing another punch was because he was holding back Romy, who looked murderous. “My parents do not kill you because they pity you. And Uncle Chris. Once that pity runs out you’ll get what you deserve. I guess daddy didn’t hit you nearly enough because you do not know your place-” 

It wasn’t Isaac who knocked David on his ass, nose now gushing blood and his head hitting the ground a little too hard. It wasn’t Romy either. 

“You’re pathetic,” Jeanie snarled. “You love to hurt people because you’re unhappy, but maybe it’s because you don’t _deserve_ to be happy.” Jeanie stood. “You ruin things, David. You have no one to blame but yourself.” 

“I ruined everything,” David mumbled now. 

“Quoi?” Leo questioned. 

“It’s my fault that everyone hates me,” David was now having a pity party for himself. 

Isaac turned, deciding that it wasn’t his problem if they were too drunk to walk home. His blood was boiling, but Jeanie actually getting violent to defend him made him feel better. Jeanie was not one to fall to violence easily, but when she did it came with ruthless words. 

Isaac led Romy by the arm, Jeanie not far behind. Isaac knew David and Leo were following but didn’t much care. Isaac only realized when he saw Chris waiting for them in the courtyard that he’d forgotten to call. Fucking David distracted him. Still, it was only 1:15, not that much past curfew. Of course, Chris had more reasons than most parents to worry about Isaac coming home late. Even though Gabriel and Louise were also up waiting for them. Damn Argents. 

“Look, I tried to call, but-” Isaac started. 

“Why do you have blood on you?” Chris asked sharply. 

“Ask _him_ ,” Isaac pointed back at David. 

“Why does he have blood on him?” Chris asked. 

“David punched first,” Romy defended him. 

“Still, Isaac heals, David does not,” Gabriel frowned. “Isaac retaliating has more lasting consequences." 

“Gabriel, you’re out of line,” Chris said. “You can’t actually be blaming Isaac for defending himself?” 

Gabriel flushed pink much like his son. “No, no of course not, I shouldn't have implied…” 

“Are you alright?” Louise checked in with her daughter. 

“Fine,” Romy waved her away. “Isaac held me back, otherwise David would have a lot more than a split lip to show for it.” 

Louise looked to Isaac, seeming to struggle with something internally. “Thank you. For not letting her do something stupid.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Isaac said, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“He has more than a split lip,” Chris looked to Isaac. “Busted up his nose too. How far did you go?” 

“Er, that was me,” Jeanie admitted sheepishly. 

“Jeanie,” Gabriel seemed surprised. “I expect better from you.” 

“Expect better for your son,” Jeanie snapped. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s an asshole! And he’s only gotten worse!” 

Gabriel didn’t have a proper retort. Jeanie wasn’t wrong. 

“Gabriel, he’s your kid and I don’t have any right to judge someone’s parenting, but if he keeps coming at my kid, I’ll have to do something about it,” Chris said. Isaac was struck by a weird sense of pride. Chris had defended him, spoken unashamedly against the husband of the leader of the house. He’d also said ‘my kid’, but that was less pride and more general concern for what their relationship actually meant. 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Romy spoke loudly over the slight tension between parents. “Isaac, Jeanie, come on, let’s go to bed,” Romy pulled her friend along. 

“He deserved it,” Jeanie muttered ruefully as they headed upstairs. “David better grow up fast, otherwise it won’t be the last time I fucking deck him.” 

Romy opened her bedroom door and fell right onto her bed. “You both can leave now.” 

Isaac sighed, shook his head, and shut the door behind her. 

“No need to walk me to my room, Isaac. Go to bed,” Jeanie told him. She turned before pausing. “You know David just says stupid shit. It doesn’t mean there’s any truth behind it.” 

“I know.” Isaac wasn’t sure if he believed himself. David was a coward and a dick, but his words still stung. 

“Aunt Valerie doesn’t do things out of pity. She does things because they’re right. You’re here because you helped the family. You helped Uncle Chris and so you deserve to be here,” Jeanie said more firmly. 

“Thanks,” Isaac said quietly. 

Jeanie nodded before turning and heading off to her own room. 

Isaac returned to his slowly, lost in thought. He didn’t quite understand how people could care so much, but he would like to hold onto it. While he could.


	33. Chapter 33

It was time for another hunt. And it was Chris who came to him with it.

“I’m guessing Romy has already brought it up,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Isaac replied, already wary of Chris’s intentions, if he was going to tell him off or had given up. “But I didn’t say I was going.” 

Chris nodded slowly, seeming lost in thought. 

Isaac moved to defend himself. “Look, I know you don’t think it’s safe, I can just stay-” 

“I’ll be going with you,” Chris spoke over him. They both fell silent. “If you want to, that is.” Isaac said nothing. “I said you wouldn’t be alone in this anymore and I meant it.” 

“Do you…” Isaac thought about his words carefully. “ _Want_ me to go?” 

“Not really,” Chris said stiffly. But he continued after a long sigh. “But I’m starting to think you should. _We_ should. They need our influence. You know that.” 

Isaac nodded. “Okay. So, we go.” 

“Didn’t think you’d be the one I needed to convince,” Chris said. 

“Oh? Did you take some convincing?” Isaac teased. Still, tension was rising as it always did before a fight. 

“Yeah, actually, I did,” Chris admitted. “But I’m going to be there and a lot of the family I trust.” 

Isaac couldn’t hold off his anxiety very well. “Are you worried? About who in the family you trust.” 

“No,” Chris said far too quickly. He did not elaborate. 

“Good to know,” Isaac said sarcastically. 

He was distracted by the usual noise of hunters arming themselves and heading for the truck. Isaac appreciated Chris’s solidarity, but he also immediately gravitated towards Romy and Jeanie. 

Romy let out an obnoxious whoop. “Yeah! We got the American!” She clapped him on the back warranting an eyeroll. 

“Romy,” Jeanie said scoldingly. 

“You heading the hunt this time, Jeanie?” Isaac asked. 

Jeanie laughed. “No. This is way above my paygrade. An alpha has been terrorizing a town in Belgium.” 

“In _Belgium_?” Isaac asked. 

“Yeah…?” Jeanie raised an eyebrow. 

“We’re taking all these weapons and people across an international border?” Isaac asked. 

“It’s not that hard,” Jeanie and Romy exchanged glances. “And say we get stopped, we’re legally recognized arms dealers. So, it’s not _that_ suspicious as long as we transport them in lockup and them arm up once we get there. And sure, it’s over three hours away, so a very long drive, but not as far as say, here to America, you know?” 

“Europe is weird,” Isaac shook his head. 

“You Americans are obsessed with borders,” Romy told him. “Now, come on. You’re riding with _me_ again.” 

“Fantastic,” Isaac said sarcastically but his immediate willingness to follow said otherwise. 

“Here,” Romy handed him an apple. She did not have her knuckles on her fists just yet. Isaac appreciated it considering the poison they harbored towards him, especially with Romy’s propensity to share snacks. “Drive’s gonna be longer this time around. A lot less to do than sleep.” 

“We can practice your french!” Jeanie seemed far more delighted by the idea than Isaac was. 

“You want to torture him?” Simon got in the driver's side. The first time Isaac had seen him properly since that night. Simon hadn’t gotten home until late the next day and gave no indication that he even remembered their conversation. 

“Oh my god!” Romy shouted out, giving Isaac a heart attack and causing Simon to nearly cause an accident just as they were entering the streets of Paris. “You’re a werewolf!” 

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Well spotted..?” 

“Dude, you’re gonna be so badass! They’ll have no idea what hit them! A _werewolf_ on our side!” 

“Hey,” Jeanie turned back to look at him, a question forming. “That pack we encountered last time, why didn’t they bring it up? Rat you out to us or something?” 

“Honestly, I have no idea. Just glad they didn’t,” Isaac shrugged. 

“ _Glad_. They tried to tear you apart not a month later,” Romy grumbled. 

“Didn’t say I was grateful for that,” Isaac rolled his eyes. 

“You’ve been walking a very dangerous line, Isaac,” Jeanie said. As if he didn’t know that. “Wait- when David cut you in that fight, you healed. That’s why you were so weird about it.” Jeanie’s suspicion began to mirror Romy’s prior. “You couldn’t think of a better excuse than an abusive father? That’s a bit serious, Isaac. _And_ making a fuss about it and pushing David?” 

“Hey! That part was true,” Romy defended him and Isaac sort of wished she wouldn’t. Simon did not react to the conversation. Isaac only hoped his tragic backstory wasn’t strung through the entire house in gory detail. It was bad enough they all knew about Allison and his lycanthropic condition. Although considering Isaac’s tendency to bare his soul to near strangers in club bathrooms, he was at least partially to blame. 

“Sorry,” Jeanie said. She genuinely seemed to mean it. “Didn’t know.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Isaac shrugged, desperate for a change of topic. 

“So, you all thinking we’ll be dealing with an alpha tonight?” Simon saved him from the discomfort. 

“I hope not,” Jeanie grumbled. “I’ve had enough alpha fights to last a lifetime.” 

Isaac, with Deucalion and the twins coming to mind, couldn’t help but agree. Not to mention Kali. His memories were still blurred and distorted, but he definitely remembered the terror of when she had caught him sneaking around the bank. Dark red eyes and a snarl that had resulted in plenty of discomfort, to put it lightly. Isaac winced in sympathy with his forgotten-past self. He did not miss those memories. 

“Êtes-vous nerveux à ce sujet?” Jeanie asked. Isaac started realizing the question was directed at him. 

“Could you repeat that?” 

Jeanie rolled her eyes before speaking more slowly. “ _Are you nervous about this?_ ” 

“Ah,” Isaac could understand, but he didn’t know what to reply with. “Oui…?” 

“Nicely done,” Romy snorted. 

“That’s what I would’ve said in english…” Isaac muttered. “But why’d you ask anyways? _Should_ I be nervous?” 

“Well, let’s say your first hunt with us was… more than it was supposed to be,” Jeanie put it lightly. “But even so, it wasn’t exactly what our family considers intense. This will be, most likely.” 

“What do we know?” Isaac asked. 

Romy spoke, eyes remaining down as she sorted a handful of candy by color, another part of her obscene snack collection. “At first it was a series of strange animal attacks. A survivor said they were chased by a pair of men with red and blue eyes respectively,” she continued to sort through the colors. “We sent a scouting group to check it out, what, four days ago?” She looked up to Jeanie for confirmation, Jeanie nodded. “Our people saw the bodies. They were _not_ animal attacks.” 

“Not to mention one of our sources recognized a name,” Simon spoke up. “Goudeau.” 

“I’d never heard of them,” Romy shrugged. 

“Neither had I,” Jeanie said. “But our parents had. Said they’d killed a bunch of people a few years back in the south. Apparently we didn’t kill them all, a lot of them ran for it. Fell off the map.” 

“When did you guys learn all of this?” Isaac couldn’t help but ask. 

Jeanie and Romy exchanged somewhat guilty glances. Romy spoke first. “Last night there was a meeting. For the hunters that were coming along. You are not a hunter, you are not training with us, not really at least, so you… weren’t… invited.” 

“But you came now, and that’s why we’re filling you in,” Jeanie said quickly. 

Isaac processed all this carefully. He didn’t care much about going to the super special hunter meeting. What mattered more to him was what was waiting for them. This was not a pack mugging a few random people. These were murderers for sure. Maybe he was making assumptions like his friends, but the amount of bodies and witnesses seemed like evidence. “Wait, you said there was a survivor.” 

“Yes?” Jeanie raised an eyebrow. 

“Were they… attacked?” Isaac phrased it carefully. 

“Do you mean were they bitten?” Simon spoke his truth. “And if so, what did we do?” 

“I mean, yeah,” Isaac said, some anxiety forming. Gerard’s men had planned on murdering him in his cell the moment they found out he was bitten. Sure, they were extremists, but he didn’t know where these Argents stood on the issue. Isaac wasn’t used to his existence involving so many… politics. 

“No. They were not bitten,” Simon told him. This did not alleviate all of Isaac’s concerns. 

“And if they were?” Isaac pushed. 

“We usually try and kill the alpha responsible. Werewolves can breed among themselves, have their little born wolves, but we don’t approve of spreading it to humans,” Simon said. “And the one bitten, we monitor. Explain their curse, usually leave someone on watch for a few months. Lock them up on a full moon. Tell them to stay out of France.” 

“And then what?” Isaac pushed. 

“We leave them,” Simon said. “Tell them if they hurt someone we will put them down. Even if it’s on the full moon, even if they couldn’t control them. We cannot just let them go.” Simon seemed very set on this. Isaac wasn’t sure how to feel. Sure, it was unforgiving, but what was the alternative? Not everyone had Derek to keep them contained or Scott to teach them control. 

“Okay,” Isaac finally spoke, noting the tension in the car begged a response. 

“ _Okay_?” Romy repeated. “That’s it?” 

“How can I judge that when I don’t know what else you’re supposed to do?” Isaac shrugged. “I’ve tried to kill people we thought were murderers. Were… feral. I guess. Uncontrollable. We were wrong, and we didn’t succeed, but if we _weren’t_ wrong, I don’t know how differently we would’ve been.” What would Scott have done? If they’d had to kill Lydia? Or Jackson? 

Wouldn’t have done it. Scott would’ve found a solution instead. One Isaac couldn’t think of. Or maybe if pushed the right way Scott would have done the same. None of those possibilities were exactly engaging to Isaac. 

“Can I see your claws?” Romy asked excitedly. Isaac was endeared by her enthusiasm after so much hatred. 

Isaac flicked his right hand open and in doing so released his preferred weapon of choice. Jeanie turned back from her seat to look as well and Isaac noticed Simon glance in the rearview mirror. The attention was unsettling, but he would manage if it made him less strange to them. 

“Bizarre…” Romy murmured, reaching out and brushing lightly against them. “Does it hurt? When they come out?” 

“Not really,” Isaac shrugged. “It’s like… the feeling of tugging on your fingernails. Except really light but also… god, I don’t know how to explain it in a way that makes sense. It just _is_.” 

“What about…?” Jeanie tapped her mouth. 

“Fangs? Don’t really hurt either,” Isaac shrugged. “Also probably like if someone tugged on your teeth a little. But, again, it’s only like that at first. Once they’re out they’re just… a part of you.” Isaac hadn’t really thought much about it. It had been too overwhelming the first time when Derek had showed him how to really think about how strange it felt. By the time he could actually think about it, it was normal. “Full moons hurt. Not a lot, but it’s definitely uncomfortable. Your face changes and I think something in our bones does too. My spine always hurts and my muscles are crazy tense. And it kinda sucks ‘cause you don’t have a choice then. But there’s also so much of this power too. Like adrenaline, but less stressful, if that makes sense.” 

The two girls seemed oddly awed by the topic. As if they had never considered the actual logistics of what their enemy was. Simon seemed to be listening, even if he couldn’t stare like the girls while driving. 

Romy brushed over the claws again, frowning. 

“Hey!” Isaac pulled away when Romy pushed one of his claws back towards his hand, which was uncomfortable in a way he also couldn’t describe. 

“Oh, sorry!” Romy panicked. “I wanted to see if they just went back in like… like wolverine’s claws.” She said sheepishly. 

“You don’t know how wolverine’s claws would work,” Jeanie pointed out. “Maybe it would be the same as that. Rude and apparently not good.” 

“Point taken,” Romy muttered. Isaac curled his hand inwards slowly, the claws receding with it. “Bizarre…” She said again, shaking her head. 

“I wish it was like wolverine,” Isaac admitted, thinking fondly on the comics he had loved before everything went bad. 

“Does moving your hand with it help?” Jeanie nodded at it. 

“I guess. It was just how I was taught. Force of habit, now. But I’d say it makes it easier. Feels more natural,” Isaac shrugged again. 

“Natural,” Simon laughed. “Not a word I would use.” 

Isaac scoffed, but still, their curiosity gave him hope. This was still a relatively new world to Isaac. He was bitten, not born. What was ‘natural’ had changed drastically. He only hoped that they could learn to accept it despite never experiencing it. 

Isaac did not know if this was the right way of going about things. Following them into a fight. Still, where they landed was not exactly what Isaac expected. It was a neighborhood. An incredibly nice neighborhood. The kind of homes only doctors and lawyers could afford. Or murderous werewolves, apparently. Isaac wouldn’t be surprised if they were lawyers too. 

“Isaac! You’re with me,” Chris called out to him once they parked in the driveway of one of the mcmansions. 

“I am?” Isaac sighed. 

“Yes,” Chris grew sterner. Ahead Louise was speaking to the hunter who occupied the home. Isaac noted that Romy did not have to stay beside her mother. Chris’s hand brushed against Isaac’s back guiding him towards the house. Isaac struggled to be irritated. “Did your friends explain?” 

“Yeah, yeah I know what we’re going into,” Isaac rolled his eyes. 

“Our scouts know their house is two blocks over. There’s very little way to be subtle about this, but our people are in the police station with the locals,” Chris told him. “All you need to know is to stay near me and don’t do anything stupid, you understand?” 

“Stop acting like I’ve never done any of this before. It’s a little demeaning,” Isaac snapped. 

“I know you’re capable, I just want you to know that this is a group effort,” was how Chris explained things. 

“Hey! Your new dad keeping you on a short leash?” David walked past him, their shoulder’s colliding. There was more than one dig in his words and Isaac refused to move in response. David seemed to bruise as a result. 

“Okay, once we get into the fighting, I’ll follow you, but I’m gonna stick with Romy for now,” Isaac pulled away. 

“Fine. Didn’t think you’d care what David thought,” Chris seemed amused. 

“I don’t. I just hate it when he’s right,” was Isaac’s retort. 

“Alright, I said fine,” Chris raised his hands in defeat and Isaac was quick to leave his side. 

Romy was now wearing her knuckles and Jeanie had a gun holstered on her belt. Isaac felt some semblance of pride that he no longer had to hide his claws. No longer had to appear weak or incompetent to ensure his survival. 

“We’re breaking into someone’s home again,” Isaac couldn’t help but point it out. 

“Someone who has killed. We have more evidence than the police get,” Jeanie pointed out. 

“Okay. Fine,” Isaac shrugged. “Are we doing this, then?” 

“We’re team two. Wait for the call,” Jeanie told him. She sat on the hood of the car, checking over her gun, the metallic clicks of her taking it apart and putting it back together almost calmed Isaac. Even if the reason why was memories of Allison doing the same. 

The house waiting for them also screamed new money. No shots had been fired yet, but they had been called for a reason. Isaac, both irritated and comforted, knew Chris was not far behind him. Inside were a put together bunch. No sign of any wolfish abilities if not for the fact that every Argent already inside had one hand on a weapon. Isaac was annoyed to find Louise was negotiating in French. And the amused, unphased expressions of the pack in front of them gave no sign of success or failure. Not to mention Louise’s perpetual irritation said nothing for their side either. 

“Romy, what’re they-” 

“Sh. Not now,” Romy hissed back. They entered the house but the increase in numbers did not seem to phase its residents. 

Although of course upon Isaac’s entrance, their mannerisms changed. Each of the eight wolves sat up a little straighter. A man in a sweatervest -a fucking werewolf in a sweatervest, what was wrong with Europeans?- leaned forwards and raised a hand to silence Louise. She didn’t listen. 

“Shush, arrêtez de parler, il se passe quelque chose d'intéressant,” the man seemed annoyed and snapped at her expecting silence. “Pourquoi avez-vous un animal de compagnie?” The sweater vest asked a question. 

Louise’s irritation grew and she looked back at Isaac who couldn’t help but shrink away from her gaze. “Peut-être devrions-nous discuter de vos actions ici avant de commencer à poser des questions,” she told the man. 

“Hey,” another Jackson-esque motherfucker looked to Isaac. “Es-tu perdu?” He asked. Isaac did not know what he said and didn’t really want to respond anyways. “Hey,” the same man whistled at him like a dog. “Est-ce qu'ils vous laissent parler?” 

“Ignore them,” Romy muttered, stepping in front of Isaac as if they couldn’t see directly over Romy’s head to Isaac. It was the thought that counts. 

“Ignore le. Vous me parlez,” Louise snapped again. The language barrier was becoming infuriating. Isaac assumed they were curious about why a werewolf had come along with the Argents. Louise’s continued speech gave him no other hints. “Tu as tué. Soit vous abandonnez les dirigeants ou on vous tue tous.” 

“Here we go,” Romy muttered. Isaac tensed. 

Romy’s senses were right. Sweater vest was on his feet and looked a lot less like a neighborhood dad with blue eyes. 

“Non, vous ne pouvez pas nous dire de faire quoi que ce soit,” the man was getting in her face and from Isaac’s understanding mocking Louise was a great way to die. 

The Argents shot first. Louise firing into the man’s stomach. The sweater vest ran red. 

It was utter chaos, maybe not in the dark like his last fight, but the amount of bodies inside the house was enough to lead to confusion. Isaac simply focused on who smelled like a wolf and lashed out with his claws. Isaac raked said claws down the back of another man with blue eyes, causing him to turn away from the hunter he was targeting with a howl of pain. Isaac backed up slowly, the other scuffles bending around him, there were far more wolves in the house than what Isaac first thought, and prepared to lunge at the man for a proper fight. Both he and the hairy wolf in front of him were stopped in their charge by several bullets spinning between them. Some of them _very_ close to Isaac. 

“Hey! Wrong fucking werewolf, asshole!” Isaac snapped at the culprit, but they were already gone in the fray and the man across from him was laughing at him. 

In a thick, fanged accent he spoke. “They need to get you a collar!” 

Isaac snarled rather than reply and aimed for the throat. The man stopped laughing and the fight resumed. Anger came far more easily this time around. These people were not retaliating because they had broken in or attacked them. They were _amused_. And as far as Isaac could tell none of them had rebuked the claim that they were a bunch of murderers. In fact, Isaac had not seen a pair of yellow eyes among them. 

Isaac did not stop the man in front of him but a bullet did. Good enough. Isaac’s fangs joined the fray. He had mixed feelings about the taste of blood. He had tasted his own more than a few times, but getting used to the taste of other people’s blood… It was like the human and wolfish side of him fought over whether or not it was disgusting or just part of a battle. 

Isaac was knocked to the ground with a gasp and a cry of pain as claws raked down his own back, but the weight there was lifted by Romy tackling the woman to the ground, her fists a blur of metal and her hands already bloody. Isaac had no time to repay the favor as there was always someone else to engage. Isaac wondered what the neighbors thought of the lightshow. And if they questioned why the police were taking their time showing up to help. 

Isaac fended off werewolves. That came to him easily. Dodging bullets less so. The hunters saw his glowing eyes and clawed hands and fired. Sometimes Isaac wasn’t sure if it was by accident. Isaac and whatever blue eyed adversary was in front of him ducked together from the gunfire before resuming their scuffle on the ground. He was vaguely aware that his arm was burning from wolfsbane which meant the moron had actually grazed him. Isaac would have shouted again- _wrong werewolf_ -but his teeth were busy with what was in front of him. 

Isaac flinched not at the other set of fangs he held away from his throat, but at the sort of strangled scream from a boy that reminded him of childhood. Isaac fought dirty, elbowing the man in front of him in the eye and kneeing him between the legs, causing the wolf to stagger back. Isaac turned towards the noise, but it was only his acute hearing that pulled that particular scream from the chaos. There was the alpha, red eyes distinct, one knee pressed into a young hunter’s back, his clawed hands yanking back on the boy’s arm, bending it further than the arm should go. Isaac started running for him. The hunter was bleeding. Isaac threw his body against the alpha on top of him despite knowing he would regret it. 

Isaac tried to tear into the man’s throat before he recovered, but instead he was thrown into the wall with a yelp, crashing down onto already shattered furniture. Isaac ducked and covered his head, dodging the next blow. Isaac scrambled to his feet, barely noticing the shard of wood from the broken table now embedded in his leg. He barely covered an inch before the alpha was on top of him, claws digging into his chest as he pressed against the man’s neck with his forearm to keep his teeth at bay. The man was too heavy. Isaac couldn’t push him off and even as his chest bled and the air was pushed from his lungs. He could not look to the left or right of him as all of his focus was maintaining the space between his neck and the Alpha’s teeth. Didn’t leave much room to protect his chest. Isaac did not scream for help. There was no air for it. He couldn’t breathe. He was bleeding. His arms burning from the effort of simply holding the red eyes back. 

Isaac flinched violently as his face was showered in blood and the alpha collapsed on top of him. Isaac wriggled out from beneath the corpse, shuddering. Chris was standing over him, white as a sheet with his gun still raised. 

“I told you not to do anything stupid,” Chris said harshly, helping him to his feet. 

By now there were more bodies than werewolves and Isaac tried to ignore the survivors being put down. Isaac had never been in a fight like this before. Where the goal was to irradicate. Apparently this pack had been warned before and had continued their ways, but that didn’t change the sickness that came with an execution style affair. Still, throughout the fight Isaac hadn’t seen a single pair of yellow eyes. Which, again, made the occasional shot fired in his direction seem more deliberate. Isaac’s right leg buckled beneath him and he let out a gasp, finally noticing the chunk of wood literally several inches underneath his skin. 

“Now, it should heal, it’s not actually a wound from a werewolf, so…” Chris spoke and before Isaac could question him yanked the shrapnel from his leg. 

“Motherfucker,” Isaac swore loudly. 

“God, Isaac. You know, humans never get into this kind of trouble,” Chris said, eyeing the many wounds marring his ward. 

“Yeah, ‘cause they’d be dead. Or bleeding out,” Isaac grumbled. Speaking of his concerns. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Not sure,” Chris frowned. 

“Hey! Romy,” Isaac moved without a limp this time. “You good?” 

“I’m great, American! Saw Jeanie, she doesn’t have a mark on her, _chienne chanceuse_ , lucky bitch,” Romy said, her knuckles still covered in blood. Isaac also noted she was bleeding from her shoulder. Her eyes ran over his bloodied chest and the wound on his arm. “Are _you_?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, fine,” Isaac was dismissive despite the fact that he was in a lot of pain. Isaac scanned the room looking for familiar bodies. Instead he found something far less pleasant. David. Having a broken arm wrapped with claw marks digging around his wrist. Of course _he_ was the asshole who had tried to take on an alpha. 

When Isaac walked past David looked up, a strange look on his face and he moved to speak. Isaac instead kicked him in the leg as he walked back and muttered. “I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it was you.” 

But that was a lie, because Isaac had _smelled_ David and still dived on top of that alpha despite it. Isaac didn’t have an explanation, he just did it. This fight was a strange one. They had killed so many but each and every one had the eyes of a murderer. Surely they had just stopped a group of serial killers. Isaac tried to focus on that. Before, in Beacon Hills, their fights had instant results. Kill or be killed. Their enemies usually had loved ones hostage or were trying to murder random civilians. Maybe this wasn’t any different, it was just more planned. 

“Hey, Isaac,” Chris caught up to him. He hesitated, evidently with something important to say. “Do you want to join us properly? Train to hunt properly, I mean. Be a part of things. More so than this sort of step-in you’re doing now.” 

Isaac stopped, surprised by the offer. He wasn’t sure if it was because he thought he already was a part of things or because he didn’t think he’d ever have the right. 

“I… I don’t know,” was his go-to answer. 

Chris paused, Isaac looked to him expecting criticism for his hesitancy and instead found both concern and anger. Focused on Isaac’s arm. 

“That’s a bullet wound,” Chris said. 

“It’s just a graze.” 

“Okay, fine, it’s just a graze, but that is not from anyone’s claws, Isaac. That’s from a _gun_ ,” Chris said sharply. 

Isaac felt embarrassed and a little guilty with no idea why. “I- Well-” 

“Who did this, Isaac?” Chris asked. Isaac had to admire his restraint. Chris was holding back his fury surprisingly well. 

“I didn’t see them,” Isaac said. “But a few times I think people just got confused, saw fangs, and fired.” Isaac didn’t believe himself. 

“A few times?!” Was what Chris took from this. “People fired at you?!” 

“In my direction,” Isaac said a little hopelessly. “But usually more in the direction of whoever I was fighting.” 

“Do you actually think- Isaac, do you actually think that an Argent’s aim would be _this_ bad?” Chris gestured to Isaac’s arm for emphasis. “It’s not exactly like they would be shooting from far away,” he referred to the living room, which was large, but still just a room, which had made up their battle ground. 

“Hardly, it barely hit me,” Isaac ignored the fact that he had actively been trying to dodge bullets. 

“Why are you defending them?!” Chris’s anger was finally seeming to be directed at him. 

“I-” Isaac had no response and hated himself for it. And for how he cringed at Chris’s anger. The answers may be one in the same. Snitching, complaining, asking for help, whatever you wanted to call it, always, _always_ made things worse. 

“Isaac, don’t-” Chris sighed, forcing himself to calm. “Don’t _let_ this happen to you.” 

“ _Let_ it happen?” Isaac felt his own anger grow. “All this bullshit is just gonna bring more attention on me from the people who want me dead. You think I’m _letting_ this happen?!” Isaac couldn’t find the words to explain how wrong Chris was so instead he let out an aggravated shout before storming out of the house. _Let_ it happen… 

Still, Isaac had defended them. The very same people who might’ve put a bullet in his head instead of his arm.


	34. Chapter 34

“Isaac, I want you to get your arm tended to,” Chris said firmly. Isaac agreed grudgingly, only hoping that there were easier methods than burning it out.

After making sure Isaac would do this, Chris went to his cousin. “Valarie, I need to speak with you.” 

“Can it wait?” Valerie looked mildly startled by his urgency, intending to talk to Louise about the hunt. 

“Louise, nothing that occurred on the hunt is of immediate concern, right?” Chris said. 

“I suppose,” Louise spoke slowly. 

“Well, what I have to say is a matter of safety,” Chris said. “Could we speak in your office?” 

“Yes, of course,” Valerie moved to leave, Louise following. “Lou, _make sure everyone is fine. Get those that need it to the med bay_.” Louise grudgingly fell back. 

“Chris, what is this all about?” Valerie returned to english and shut the door behind them before circling to her side of the desk. 

Chris stepped forward, hands pressed into the desk, “what this is _about_ , is the fact that Isaac almost ate a bullet,” he tried to keep his voice even, but ensuring this boy’s safety was remaining a difficult task. “It grazed his arm. That is too close a call.” 

Valerie took a moment to absorb what he had told her. “And you believe it was intentional.” 

Chris’s irritation grew. “Don’t patronize me, Valerie,” he said coldly. “You and I both know that Argents don’t miss. I’ve thought it through, Isaac’s eyes were the only yellow ones there. It wasn’t a mistake.” 

Valerie rubbed her forehead as a headache grew. “ _Merde_... I know it is worthless, but I do apologize. I did not expect this sort of behavior to still be a problem.” 

“You’ve worked very hard to change opinions here, and I know it won’t be possible to pin down who was responsible, but I needed you to be aware,” Chris told her. 

“I will speak with the hunters that were present. Make sure it’s clear if this happens again, if I find out who did it, that there will be harsh consequences,” Valerie nodded. “I am starting to worry about this working out long term, Chris.” 

“I know. I am too,” Chris sighed. A pause where he lightly hit his fist against the desk, searching for an outlet to all his anxieties. “I, well, I had thought of this beforehand, and now I’m not sure if it’s a better or worse idea considering someone had had the audacity to shoot at him, but…” 

“Come on, then, spit it out,” Valerie waved him along impatiently. 

“Would you be comfortable indoctrinating Isaac into the family?” Chris said. “I know it’s years later than most kids would, but Allison’s was a lot later too-” Chris cut himself off, sorrow creeping in at the memories of his daughter, tied up across from him in the Hale house, how the terror in her eyes broke his heart and the pride when she freed herself. 

“I don’t know how much it will matter to those in the family if he’s one of us or not,” Valerie frowned. “I fear that those who would attack Isaac are too far gone for that. But the fact of the matter is right now they are a minority in this family. It is those who are still debating whether he should live that we should be concerned about. Chris, you know as well as I do that me taking over for my mother was not a well liked transition. That I am younger than those that came before me.” 

“Well enough. Although you seem to hold the support of your Sisters, that’s something, right?” Chris pushed. 

“Yes, well, they were smart enough to know my mother is insane, that doesn’t mean that I am their favorite choice,” Valarie admitted. “I promised you your boy would be safe here from the day you first arrived. Maybe I should rescind that to I have and will do everything in my power to ensure his safety.” 

“You’ve done your best, Valerie, I know that. But he has nowhere else to go. Not really,” Chris sighed, one hand going to his forehead as his own anxieties turned to a headache. “I hope that if Isaac gets through being indoctrinated, if he participates, shows his loyalty, that he’ll be able to change the minds of those that aren’t sure yet.” 

“I will support it, if you think that’s what’s best,” Valerie nodded. A moment of quiet. “Louise was telling me, before you arrived, that Isaac saved my boy.” 

“Yes, although pretty stupidly. Could’ve gotten himself killed in the process,” Chris tried to keep the resentment from his voice. 

“Still, it takes a lot of strength of character to put yourself in that kind of danger for an enemy,” Valerie pushed. “No one would have blamed him, or even known, if he’d let David die. But he didn’t.” She sighed, shuffling papers on her desk to fill the silence. “I know my son has lost his way. I can’t help but blame myself, the pressure I put on him, it’s made him afraid of the world. What he did,” Valerie radiated regret. “I cannot forgive my son for exposing Isaac the way he did, for _blackmailing_ him, but I’d like to think if Isaac still believes he’s redeemable, that maybe he is.” 

“I don’t know if Isaac thinks he’s redeemable persay, but he isn’t one to sit around while people are being hurt,” Chris was proud of Isaac, even if it had terrified him to see Isaac struggling, bleeding, beneath that alpha. “I hope David finds his way. He owes Isaac for this one.” 

“Well, in that case, we should treat Isaac like any other recruit. You’ll have to ask him what his weapon of choice would be, excluding guns of course. Can’t cut through rope with a gun,” Valerie moved on with business. 

“He’s not one for weapons,” Chris frowned. “Although really he could probably just tear through rope.” 

“What about an electrical current? Keep him from using his powers,” Valerie offered. 

“No way,” Chris was sharp on this. “That hurts them, you know it does. We’re not going to actually hurt him for the sake of tradition.” 

“I’m sorry, I did not bring it up with the intention of hurting him,” Valerie said. 

“You and I both know our methods aren’t exactly kind, despite how peaceful you think it is,” Chris said. “You figure out what your family expects of this, and I’ll make sure Isaac is ready.” 

“You’re not going to _tell_ him, right?” Valerie said. “You know that’s not our way. We test loyalty. Strength. We’re not some fraternity hazing him.” 

“I know the code, Valerie,” Chris grew cold. “I just have to ensure Isaac will be safe. He’s had bad experiences.” 

“I am well aware of his father, but I can ensure wherever he is, it won’t be a small space,” Valerie said. 

“Not just claustrophobia, you know it’s more than that,” Chris said. “He was held captive. Trying to save friends from the alpha pack. That has to leave a lasting effect on him.” 

“We’ll do our best to protect him, Chris. But you and I know this is not meant to be comfortable. It is supposed to show them how dangerous this job is, the helplessness they may face when fighting an enemy that is inherently stronger than them,” Valerie warned him. 

Chris sighed. “It was hard for me. When Allison was initiated. She was already involved far more than our usual starting students. Desperately defending her werewolf boyfriend…” Chris scoffed. Before returning to a state of dark thoughts. “At the time I’d hoped joining us would pull her away from him. From the dangers that came with him. But I think deep down I knew I was preparing her. For the life she wanted.” Chris collapsed into a chair. “I should’ve kept her _away_ from all this. It’s why we kept it from her for that long.” 

Valerie remained silent, allowing the grieving father his time. Chris pushed himself to continue. “And when I did bring her into all this… it hurt. To see my baby girl so afraid. To know the reason I was doing so was to prepare her for worse to come.” Chris shook himself, getting to his feet. “And Isaac doesn’t deserve any more suffering. So, I’d like to ensure that doesn’t happen.” 

“We’ll do our best,” Valerie said. “These circumstances, we’ve never had anything like this before. I’m going to consult with my Sisters, see what conditions they expect.” 

“Thank you,” Chris turned to leave. 

“And Chris?” He turned back. “The full moon is less than a week away. And I’m sorry it can’t be dealt with quietly anymore. There will be a lot of people who will want to have a say in that.” 

Chris nodded, dread weighing him as heavily as his responsibilities. He moved forward to deal with them. 

“Isaac, how’s your arm?” Chris asked. 

“Fine,” Isaac was dismissive and gloomy. So no change there. Chris turned Isaac and looked at the wound himself. It had healed. 

“I need to talk to you. About the full moon,” Chris began carefully. He had to ask questions to ensure Isaac’s safety to the best of his ability, both on the full moon and the initiation to come. 

“This again?” Isaac sighed. “Look, I’ll let you guys lock me in my room again, I can deal with it.” 

“The thing is, I don’t know if that will be enough,” Chris said. “These people, the thought of having a werewolf in our house on the full moon…” A pause. “Look, I just want to warn you. That things may change.” 

“How…?” Isaac was wary. 

Chris’s frown deepened. “Your claustrophobia, how small of a space does it take to trigger you?” 

Isaac laughed nervously. “I mean, the bigger problem is being trapped. Being in a room I can’t get out of.” 

This made Chris’s worries far worse. “But your bedroom, you were trapped there the last full moon?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I panicked then, but I got through it,” Isaac said. 

“And do you think you could do the same again?” Chris asked. Isaac shrugged. “And you were okay being chained up last full moon as well.” 

“Look, Chris, I can tolerate a lot of bullshit. I would just prefer not to put up with any more,” Isaac said. “Do you know what they might do on the full moon?” 

“Lock you up again, post a guard, have a patrol keep you out of the city, something along those lines. People are easily frightened, Isaac,” Chris said. 

“Yeah, well, it’s exhausting,” Isaac’s hand went to his arm, the wound healed, the fear still there. 

“And you still want to stay here?” Chris had to check. 

Isaac nodded slowly. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.” 

“Do you want to be a part of this family, Isaac?” Chris asked. Isaac seemed momentarily stunned into silence. “Not just as a whole, not just the Argent army, but the family I know. The friends you trust.” A pause. “Me included.” 

Isaac let out a weak laugh. “I mean, might as well.” Despite his sarcasm, Chris knew he was genuine. Isaac stared at him with a new understanding. Someone who didn’t know him might see fear, but Chris knew enough by now to know Isaac was processing this relationship to the best of his ability, but it was still strange for both of them. 

Chris pulled himself from his musings. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. For now, take care of yourself,” Chris moved to leave, committed to what was to come but no less apprehensive. 

The conditions expected by the Sisters and their families were less than ideal. Not to mention some of them were resistant of Isaac joining the family at all. Chris didn’t know what else to do. Not only did they demand that Isaac not be left alone on the full moon, but those that agreed to initiating him into the family expected him to be either sedated or electrocuted. Chris had to argue for compromise being simply that Isaac was bound in chains to even the playing field. This was meant to be a struggle, and they believed anything else would be too easy for the young werewolf. Chris feared that this would be far more difficult for his ward. 

The only comfort Chris had was not a comfort at all. This would not hurt in the way it had when it was his little girl being grabbed in a dark parking lot. Of course, it would hurt differently knowing she was dead. 

“Come on, Isaac, we should start heading home now,” Romy seemed more impatient this night. 

Romy was actually pushing them to head home before curfew instead of Jeanie or Isaac doing it for her. Although even Jeanie seemed pushier than usual, checking her phone for the time often as they traversed blocks together. 

“You’re both so _pushy_ I really don’t know what’s gotten into you today,” Isaac rolled his eyes, walking ahead on longer legs with his hands in his pockets. 

“Nothing, American, we just should keep going,” Romy had to jog to get ahead of him, turning down an unfamiliar street, still, they knew Paris better than him. He followed. 

A dark and quiet street, but Isaac knew they weren’t alone. 

“Wait. Something’s wrong,” Isaac stepped back. His friends stopped a little ways ahead of him, looking back and apprehensive. There was someone behind him. He could smell them. Human, but unfamiliar. Isaac turned, claws already out, but before he could even glimpse the assailant he was collapsed onto the ground, the pinch of a needle on his neck causing his vision to blur on the concerned faces of his friends. “R-Run…” His words slurred before the world went black. 

Chris’s anxiety turned to anger when Isaac arrived at the outpost they had chosen. He was carried in by two hunters, unconscious, head hanging limply against his chest, the two men struggling to carry the boy who would have towered over them while awake. 

“What did you do?” Chris snapped, yanking Louise closer. 

“How else did you expect us to take the werewolf? We simply sedated him. It should have no ill effects,” Louise responded coldly. She took a deep breath, hands together behind her back, posture stiff. “I understand your concerns, but know that it was the least violent option. Better that, than to shock him or put him in a cage, no?” 

“You’re right,” Chris scuffed his feet, taking in the room with a sharp eye. “Doesn’t make it seem better, though.” 

The room was mostly dark, if not for the cell in the middle. It was the largest option they could find. The room at least the size of Isaac’s bedroom back at the house, only instead it was octogonal and empty except for a metal chair, but Chris knew it would be daunting to wake up surrounded by mirrors, even if he didn’t know he was being watched from the other side. A dozen hunters circled the outside room, speaking quietly, some more reluctant to be there than others. 

Chris’s eyes returned to the center of the room. Allison had thrashed and fought, blindfolded and terrified, when it was her turn. It had been a struggle to tie her to the chair. And a worse struggle for Chris to watch. 

Isaac was a ragdoll. The greatest difficulty he posed was for the men to find a way to contain his long limbs. Chris’s lips became a thin line of disapproval as they bound Isaac to the chair. 

“Romarin! _You should not be here_ ,” Louise scolded her daughter in sharp and angry french as Romy came bounding down the stairs. “ _How did you even know where we would be?_ ” 

“Maman, he’s my friend, we just want to make sure he is okay,” Romy pouted. 

“It is bad enough you had us lead him to the right spot to get grabbed, we should be allowed to be here,” Jeanie came in behind her. Chris wasn’t sure if he should disapprove or not. “And we followed you,” she added, causing Romy to smack her arm in annoyance. 

“It doesn’t matter how we got here, we’re going to stay here until this is all done with,” Romy said. She finally turned to said friend, who was still unconscious. “Well, that’s not how it was for mine.” 

“Romy, if it was just rope, it wouldn’t exactly work, would it?” Jeanie explained. Her cousin didn’t seem to relax at this. 

“Still, a bit much, isn’t it?” Romy shifted restlessly. “He seemed really scared before he went under.” 

“Are you surprised?” Jeanie rolled her eyes. “He was just drugged in a back alley.” 

Romy still frowned. “He told us to run. Why’s he always trying to be some martyr?” 

“It’s an epidemic in Beacon Hills, really,” Chris told her. “All these stupid kids trying to save one another without thinking.” What was meant to be a sarcastic quip was instead turned into a knot in his stomach as that was exactly how his daughter died. 

“Romy, I do not want you interfering,” Louise butted in. 

“Maman,” Romy whined. “You know we won’t we just want to be here when he gets out.” 

“I won’t make you leave,” Louise was resigned. 

Looking triumphant, the girls returned to the stairs, sitting there and speaking quietly. 

Chris returned his attention to Isaac, who remained slumped forward in the chair, the chains the only thing stopping him from falling off. It was only a waiting game now. Chris paced, waiting for a change. He expected shouts. Signs of a struggle. Instead, it wasn’t until Louise pulled his arm, forced him to turn, that he was made aware of Isaac waking up. 

Isaac did not pull against the chains, instead leaned back, staring in a dazed sort of confusion at the mirrors surrounding him. Chris could see the desperate rise and fall of his chest straining against the chains wrapping around them. 

Another hunter, one that Isaac had never met, prepared to read aloud over the speaker system. 

“Isaac Lahey, your kind are not one to forgive what you’ve done,” he began. Isaac flinched at the sound. “You have betrayed them, but would you betray the hunters who took you in in return?” 

Isaac did not respond to the speech and instead seemed to cower away from it with little understanding. His breathing remained labored, almost hyperventilating, but he had yet to struggle. Only to try and make himself smaller underneath the harsh, pale lights. 

“I’m sorry…” Was all Isaac said. 

“Something’s not right,” Chris told Louise. “I don’t even think he’s hearing us.” 

“What are you talking about, Chris?” Louise asked, irritated. 

“We did something wrong,” was the best way Chris could explain, he moved forward towards the cell. Louise held him back. 

“You are not going in there. Otherwise you ruin the whole thing,” Louise snapped. “We need to push his loyalty especially. Get through that, they just might respect him.” 

“Well, this doesn’t work either if we can’t talk to him, right?” Chris shot back. 

“If you figure out what’s wrong, I can have a _stranger_ fix it,” Louise said. “No one who interacts with him can even smell familiar." 

Chris nodded before trying to refocus on Isaac who seemed to struggle to breathe behind the glass. Were the chains too tight? Chris considered himself to be a competent man in a crisis, if you could call this a crisis, but he actually was not sure what exactly was wrong. If there even was something specifically causing this panic attack. Isaac had said his room wasn’t too small, this cell was perhaps even bigger than his bed room. He said the chains weren’t a problem, that they stressed him out, but he ‘got over it’. Was it simply the fact that he was being held against his will? For some reason Chris had always thought in this type of situation Isaac would respond with sarcasm to cover his fear. This, though, Isaac was paralyzed. Something far more deeply rooted was tugging at him than ordinary fear. Pleading hysterically, but afraid to speak too loud. Chris was particularly horrified by the simple fact that Isaac, despite his relentless pleading, did not fight to free himself. 

Chris turned to the girls, who had left their seats and stood staring at their friend in disturbed confusion. 

“Hey! Romy!” Chris shook her out of her staring. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

“ _Me?_ ” Romy gaped. “Are you kidding, how would I know? You actually _know_ him, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Chris muttered. “I do…” Chris ran his hand through his short cropped hair, moving with sharp agitation. The hunter had stopped reading over the intercom, leaving Isaac alone to tense silence. 

Chris knew there was another option. Not one he was inclined to, but one he could force himself into. 

Much like Isaac had encountered long before, late another night, Chris heard a tired “Allô?” On the other end of the line. 

“I need to speak with Dr. Bhatt,” Chris spoke but the words tasted sour. 

“And who is this?” Bhatt’s partner, Petyr, Chris now recognized, sounded far more cautious now. 

“Chris Argent.” 

The phone grew staticky as Petyr passed the phone along. 

“Mr. Argent, what have you done?” Was Dr. Bhatt’s immediate response. 

Chris sighed, feeling resentful, “what might cause Isaac to have a panic attack?” 

Bhatt cursed under his breath, “many things. Um, breaking glass, being trapped, aggression, abandoning him, locking him out,” he said that one pointedly. “A lot of little things that come with a home life. Tension, especially.” 

“But-but on the full moon, he was trapped in his bedroom, but he was okay,” Chris said. Bhatt said nothing. “What about chains? He was okay with them on the full moon too.” 

“Yes, his father chained him up,” a pause. “And you say on the full moon... but if he was okay before, what’s different?” Bhatt asked. “Actually, what’s _happening?_ Where are you?” 

“I can’t tell you that, so just try and help me here,” Chris said. 

“You _can’t_ or you won’t?” Bhatt snapped. “I know you care about him, so don’t be stupid, just tell me where you are.” 

“Isaac is being initiated into the Argent family. I know you don’t understand that, but it is important, especially for Isaac, that we get this right. He needs to prove his loyalty to them,” Chris said. 

“Prove his loyalty?!” Bhatt’s anger was growing. “Tell me where you are or I swear to god I will- I will-” 

“You’ll what?” Chris asked coldly. A moment of silence, almost enough for Chris to think he had in some way won. Until: 

“Me and every emissary and werewolf I know will tear apart your pathetic little fortress until we find him,” Bhatt said. 

“Shit,” Chris muttered. Chris knew better than to question the abilities of an emissary. Even if Dr. Bhatt was not as powerful as he made himself out to seem, he was still a threat. “I’ll give you the address, but you wait outside, do you understand me?” 

“Fine, but if you’ve hurt him, there will be hell to pay, do you understand _me?_ ” Bhatt shot back. 

Chris waited upstairs, wishing they could have just skipped ahead to the part where Isaac was told he would be a soldier, that now all he had to do was free himself. Yet Isaac was a special case. This was not the sort of speech where they simply told him of the risk, of being bitten and dying for their cause. The expectations were greater. Isaac would be told that he had forsaken his own kind. That he must betray the Argents. When he resisted, as Chris knew he would, Isaac’s loyalty would be put on display. None of the hunters spectating could deny Isaac’s intentions then. 

Both Dr. Bhatt and his partner arrived, approaching the empty shop that they made camp underneath with caution. Chris welcomed them inside. 

“Well? Do you plan on explaining?” Bhatt moved in agitation. “Where is he?” 

“Downstairs, but first you need to promise me that you won’t interfere,” Chris said. 

“How can we promise that?” Petry asked. 

“Because you both should be smart enough to know that Isaac needs to be trusted to live in our home,” Chris said. “And I think we all agree it would be preferable if Isaac were somewhere safer, but the fact is he doesn’t plan on going anywhere.” 

“What have you all done with him?” Bhatt asked. 

“The Argents- we abduct our own, show them the risk of this life, and then have them cut themselves free,” Chris spoke carefully. 

“You people are sick,” Petyr spat. “They are children when you do this.” 

“Do you think I don’t take this seriously?” Chris snapped. “I did my best to check, to make this safe, but it hasn’t worked out. And that’s why you are here. Because if we can, someone else can make sure he’s alright and it won’t jeopardize the whole point of this.” 

“Fine. Show me, then. What you’ve done,” Bhatt crossed his arms over his chest, Petyr shifting irritatedly behind him. 

Chris went down the stairs, Louise met them halfway, moving past Chris and blocking Bhatt’s way. 

“Why are you here?” Louise said sharply. “You have no business interfering.” 

“Take it up with your cousin, then,” Petyr stepped between Bhatt and Louise. 

“I asked for their help, Louise, I’d prefer if you allowed them to give it,” Chris said, moving ahead into the room, checking to see if anything had changed. Isaac remained disconcertingly still, still hunched forward in fear. 

Chris turned back to those he had invited and was surprised to see that despite being incredibly short, Bhatt had crossed the room in an inordinately short amount of time. And packed quite the punch. 

Chris staggered back, a hand going to his bleeding lip, as Bhatt lunged at him again. He was shouting at him in a language Chris did not know, hindi, he guessed, although he was more focused on keeping the man’s fists away from him. 

Petyr, of all people, picked Bhatt up and pulled him back, murmuring calming words in his ear. Bhatt eventually stopped struggling. 

“You-You are a sick man, Chris Argent,” Bhatt blustered. 

“You can tear into me later, what do you think is wrong?” Chris asked. 

“What do I-? It shouldn’t _matter_. You should get him out of there,” Bhatt snapped. 

“Please,” Chris pushed. “You know I can’t do that.” 

Bhatt, while still deeply resentful, turned back to his patient. He grimaced, evidently pained by the sight of Isaac so hysterical. “It’s around his neck. The chain is around his neck. That’s at least part of the problem.” 

“His neck?” Chris blinked. 

“Yes,” Bhatt hissed. “His neck. His father used to wrap a chain around his neck.” 

“Christ…” Chris rubbed his temples with one hand. “Alright, Louise? Did you get that?” 

“Yes, but-” 

“But what?!” Chris snapped. “You get someone to get the chain off his neck, we get back to business, alright?” 

Louise nodded sharply. Chris watched on as a young hunter came into the cell, wide eyed with anxiety. He was told to _un_ tie a werewolf who seemed a little insane. Still, it was Isaac who flinched away on the man’s approach. 

Isaac was having a very stressful night. He came to and the first thing he was made aware of was a fucking chain around his neck. It was almost more terrifying that this was not accompanied by cold metal walls inches away from him, because that would have qualified as familiarity. Logic. Instead, he was forced to face his own terrified, pale face staring back at him from all directions. An infinite line of fear extending backwards into the faint green of the mirrors. Surely this was hell. 

Isaac aware that he had been drugged. That there was a door behind him, so he was not truly isolated, but logic was merely a nuisance when a surreal terror gripped him more tightly than the chain tugging around his throat. It was subconscious, primal. He knew that his current predicament had nothing to do with his father or when he was abducted by the alpha pack, that did not stop memories from reminding him of the pain that was sure to follow. Isaac tried to remain still, every movement tugging against the chains around his body, all the while between each shuddering inhale he couldn’t help but mumble pleas and apologies like a habit, as if that had ever done him any good. 

Time felt strange. Isaac was used to hours spent alone in the dark, but he hadn’t suffered through it in a long time. There was more unknown this time around. His father was unpredictable as well as violent, but Isaac could at least pray he’d let him out after the weekend. Although, over winter break… those were darker times. Isaac never knew if his father would let him die, terrified and dehydrated, but Isaac had convinced himself that the difficulty of getting rid of his body was enough to stop him. 

Here, Isaac had no idea who was watching beyond the glass. Why he was there. Someone had been talking to him before. In English, as well. Something about betraying them. They had also named him. His full name as well. Isaac’s thoughts seemed separate from his body, which reacted to the familiar circumstance with adrenaline and terror. He just had to remain very still and very quiet, and he would be less likely to draw violence. 

The door behind him opened. Isaac could see the young man reflected around him infinitely. Isaac flinched back, nose crinkled. The man reeked of cologne. It burned his nose and made him lightheaded. The man was behind him, Isaac writhed and pulled desperately as he could feel hands too close to his neck. He gasped softly as instead of being hit the chains around his neck and chest loosened, before falling away. Those binding his hands behind his back remained. 

“Why’re you…?” Isaac’s words came out hoarse and nearly inaudible. The man did not respond, instead he was quick to leave him. 

Isaac couldn’t help but flinch as that voice once again returned. 

“ _You have betrayed your kind. Your loyalty to hunters is a bastardization of your very nature. Tell us where to find the Argent clan, tell us how to get inside, and we will not hurt you,_ ” the man spoke, english impeccable but clearly french, through an intercom it seemed. 

Despite Isaac’s anxiety, he couldn’t help but laugh. Silence from the other end. It seemed they didn’t know what to do with him. Isaac spat on the floor in front of him, eyes flashing gold. 

“Do your worst.” 

Despite his bravado, when the door behind him opened Isaac couldn’t help but flinch. But the face he saw behind him in the mirror inspired confusion instead of fear. 

“How did you get here?” Isaac asked. It took only a moment to see the flicker of guilt on Chris’s face for his confusion to turn to anger. “Why am I here?” Chris said nothing. And finally, voice cracked and nervous, “what have I done?” The fact that this was Isaac’s question instead of asking what Chris had done to put him here showed all the damage it had to. 

“Isaac, we did what had to be done,” Chris circled the chair so he was facing him. Isaac noted that his lip was bleeding. “Those are the kind of hardships you have to be prepared for in this family.” 

“ _Hardships?_ You think I don’t know enough about hardships as is?!” Isaac snarled. 

“Let me finish,” Chris forced himself to remain firm, unwavering just as he had with Allison. “We expect your loyalty. That is what makes a good soldier. And if you can’t even forgive this, maybe this isn’t what you really want.” 

Isaac hesitated, taking in Chris’s words, before that rage and tension left his shoulders and his eyes instead remained fixed on the ground. “This was an initiation, wasn’t it?” 

Chris also paused, surprised. “Yes, it was.” 

“Allison told me about it. You scared the hell out of her,” Isaac said. “Dunno how I’m supposed to cut through chains with an arrow, though.” 

“Usually it’s their blade of choice. A specific dagger. An arrow just was more her,” Chris admitted. 

“And what’s for me? Again, don’t know how you think I’m getting through this,” Isaac said. 

“You’re a werewolf, I’m sure you can figure it out,” Chris grew amused. Before his guilt returned. “Those were the conditions set. I know you can do this.” 

Isaac sighed, already exhausted. 

“Good luck, Isaac. Welcome to training,”Chris left him alone once again. 

Isaac, now aware he was being watched by his peers and all the people he had to prove himself to, was unsure of how to begin. Isaac was tired, yes, but he was still bitter as well. His friends had helped in all this. Chris had allowed it. These people had found it necessary to prove his loyalty. They had decided he had to be chained up like a dog to prevent things from being ‘unfair’. Things had never been fair for him. 

Isaac started by trying to tug himself free, to tear through the chains using brute force. He had torn through the chains on a gate before, surely this wasn’t different. But he could not pull on the chains directly, his movement so limited. The chains were tight. He could not slip his hands through the bonds. Isaac freed his claws, testing to see if it really was possible to saw through chain like Allison had through rope. His claws had torn through the sheet metal of the lockers. Other wolves had left claw marks in metal pillars and concrete. 

Isaac shuddered. Sawing through the metal felt like dragging nails on a chalkboard. It was uncomfortable to not simply drag his claws along metal but to dig down and saw through it at the awkward angle of his wrists. Isaac grew flushed, imagining the judging eyes of hunters through the glass. It had been maybe ten minutes and he already was growing frustrated. He yanked and writhed against the chains again, feeling sick at how familiar the act was. 

Isaac noted that the only thing preventing him from pulling his hands through the chain around his wrists were his thumbs. The lower part widening his hand just enough, but Isaac knew the angle that would make his hand smaller. The problem was, to do so would definitely involve breaking something. 

They had decided to punish him for being a werewolf, to make this harder on him. He would not bend to their rules. Isaac bent his thumb against his palm as far as it would go and tugged. 

He couldn’t hold back a scream as he collapsed off of the chair, the chain hanging loosely around one wrist, the other freed but throbbing in pain. It was already starting to heal. Isaac got to his feet, unsteady, angry, and oddly proud. He left the room, adjusting quickly to the dark of the room outside of it. Hunters, some familiar, some strangers, looked on in surprise. Isaac was confused to see Dr. Bhatt and Petyr there as well. 

Of course Romy and Jeanie were there. That was to be expected. Romy seeming particularly delighted. 

“Fourteen minutes,” she told him. "No one gets out in fourteen minutes!" 

“Great, can you help me get this off, then?” Isaac referred to the chain still around his other wrist. He had made it out. Now he just had to figure out his place in all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve updated. Writers block is killer! But I hope this isn’t a bad chapter to come back with. And I’m hoping to pick up the pace a bit, if that makes sense, because tbh I want to get Isaac moving forward. So if things start feeling a bit quicker or not as linked together, know that that’s why! Thanks guys :)


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